Don Dresden
by joshlamont
Summary: Written by cyrileom on Spacebattles. When Harry Dresden went on to his final judgment, he was expecting something a little more judgmenty than founding Hogwarts...
1. Chapter 1-I: The Founding Start

**NOTE: This story was written by c****yrileom on SpaceBattles. I am reposting it here with permission.**

* * *

**July 1069**

"Harry Harding?" Rowena mused.

"What about Harry Hoglord?" Helga suggested.

Salazar and I both sighed in frustration, though our brief, entirely unintentional and unwanted moment of camaraderie was broken as we glared at each other.

"Rowena, my name is Harry Dresden," I said with a sigh.

"But that's not alliterative!" she cried. "It's just… off!" She jabbed a finger at herself, then Helga, then Salazar. "RR, HH, SS, and then you, with HD. It breaks the pattern."

"HBCD, actually," I said.

"That just makes it even worse," she muttered, going back to scribbling on a bit of vellum with a quill.

There were many, many things I missed from my old life. Air conditioning, Mac's beer, cars, Burger King, proper plumbing. Pencils and pens were fairly far down the list, but I was really starting to hate quills and inkpots. They were just so messy.

"You have two middle names?" Helga Hufflepuff asked, and I realized I had caught her interest and curiosity with my comment.

Helga was very difficult to ignore. She was a very small, petite woman, maybe a hair over five feet, with a slim figure, short blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. All in all, she looked almost like a dead ringer for Murphy, and every time I looked at her I always felt this small, painful pang of nostalgia. But personality wise…

Helga was bubbly, enthusiastic, opinionated, lively, every single synonym you could think of for being a very open, talkative person. She was the one that had originally came up with the idea that brought us together, and she was the very forceful glue binding us all together despite our myriad issues.

She also had an atrocious sense for names.

"I do," I said. "I won't mention them, for obvious reasons, but I do."

Helga nodded in a rare moment of solemnity, and said, "You're very interesting, Harry."

She was a wizard and a recognized, if not well-respected, member of the White Council, just like me. Though she and Rowena preferred to be called witches for reasons I still didn't understand.

Beside me, Salazar snorted dismissively and said, "He's an ill-reputed, unsophisticated brute." He shot a look at my white staff, practically as tall as I was.

"At least I know how to ask for help," I snarked back. "Still trying to turn lead to gold? I could tell you how to do that."

And the hell of it was, I could. Not just magically – though even that rather difficult transmutation I had a few ideas about – but the nuclear-slash-fissile transmutation as well. Granted, I only had a very limited idea of how to induce that kind of radioactive decay, but the fact that I knew how to do it at all was bizarre, and a little concerning. It certainly wasn't anything I'd ever studied, but ever since waking up on that bed of snow, I've remembered bits and pieces of memories that I knew weren't mine. Knowledge of Ye Olde English, for example, or Norman French, or proper Latin. Hell, I'd even retorted in Ancient Sumerian to a ghoul I'd found preying on a small farming village, and I think the number of people alive that can speak in that language can be counted on seven hands with room to spare.

I suppressed a wince as my headache started up again. It always happened whenever I started thinking about those memories and how I might have gotten them. My assumption was that it was related to Lash in some way, an echo of her memories resurfacing after some traumatic death experiences. Judging by the pain, the memories weren't meshing perfectly.

"Boys, boys, no arguing," Helga said firmly.

"You know how to accomplish alchemical transmutation?" Rowena asked, looking up from her scroll and fixing me with a very determined stare.

Rowena was a little taller than the average woman, coming up to my shoulders. She had a plumper figure than Helga, implying a very sedentary lifestyle with a lot of food and not a lot of activity, which described Rowena perfectly in my opinion. She was basically the researcher scientist that shut herself away for decades at a time, emerging only when she had a new discovery to crow about. Like Helga and Salazar, she was dressed in thick robes that seemed to be the standard for wizards, blue in her case. She also had wild, back-length black hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a giant, angry red splotch across the right side of her face.

All of us had something like that, a product of the inner conflict between our nature as humans and our magic. Rowena's was in the form of an impossible-to-conceal birthmark, Helga's was that milk, cheese, and butter spoiled and curdled in her presence, Salazar's skin was perpetually dry and leathery, and the air around me alternated between being freezing cold and blisteringly hot. I can't believe I'm writing this, but I miss the days when technology blew up around me. At least that was consistent.

I just realized I didn't put my name down for posterity, so let me fix that. My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. I'm writing this journal in Ye Americane English to remind myself of where I came from. Why? I don't really know.

I am one of four big wizards of renown in Britannia, or Britain, or whatever the island is called now. The other three are Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. Somehow, Helga roped me into helping with her idea for a school of magic. We haven't even gotten out of the planning stages, and already I'm plagued with migraines.

To the one person reading my journals as I write them, I hope you get some amusement out of my suffering, because I sure as hell am not.

Rowena bugged me throughout the rest of the meeting and completely derailed the planning session, which meant we ultimately ended up accomplishing nothing. Which wasn't surprising, considering our situation.

The White Council, that monolithic entity that lorded over humans with magic and enforced the Seven Laws of Magic – which I did agree with, despite the harsh enforcement – was based out of Constantinople, half a world away by Medieval standards. The British Isles were in the ass-end of nowhere by comparison, and while there was a Council base in the area, the Hidden Halls of Edinburgh, it was only lightly manned. Also completely banned to us outside of actual Council duties and needs, despite Helga's best attempts and arguments for repurposing it.

Wizardly and magical education currently went by a master-apprentice system, and such was the case all throughout the Old World. Not that there was a New World yet to compare it to, but that would come later. Probably. In any case, because wizardly were solitary and ornery folk, many lesser practitioners and minor talents, hedge witches and petty sorcerers and fumbling alchemists, went almost completely overlooked by the Council except when they went dark and started cackling about unlimited power.

And so Helga Hufflepuff had a dream: to open a school of magic that looked for and sought all comers, to spread the gift of knowledge, impart proper appreciation and respect for the Laws of Magic, and to cut down on the number of warlocks that went down a dark path not by choice but because they just didn't understand the risks and pitfalls. But, when she'd presented her plans before the Council, she'd been laughed at and scorned.

So now here we were, in Britannia, England to be precise, trying to cobble this idea together on hopes and shoestrings because none of us had any real resources. Problems were legion, solutions were few, and tensions were high.

Oh, and because our task wasn't hard enough, there was a never-ending stream of troubles because William the Conqueror had invaded and taken the throne of England just a few years ago, which meant constant conflict and discontent between the native Anglo-Saxons and the intruding Normans. It almost made me miss Avalon, because at least there my problems had been simple. Incredibly, entrancingly terrifying, but simple.

* * *

We went our separate ways after the meeting. Or most of us did, anyway; Rowena lived in the tower we convened at. She didn't like traveling.

She lived in a squat, solitary stone tower at the edge of a small town, really more of an overgrown village, called Hogsmeade. She had a fairly stable business relationship with the residents of the town where she used vitalism to get the land to produce bumper crops, and in return she was supplied, concealed, and ignored.

Salazar and Helga left through the Nevernever, opening Ways at the base of Rowena's tower and disappearing through them. Salazar's work, from what I heard. Despite my personal issues with him, and believe me, there are a _lot_ of those, I couldn't deny that the man was dedicated and knew his craft. He was almost as invested in Helga's idea as she was, though I had no clue why, and while Helga tried to deal with organizational issues Salazar tried the more magical side, ingratiating himself with various supernatural communes and learning the Ways around the Isles.

I didn't use the Ways. Partially because I refused to spend any more time around Salazar than necessary, but mostly because I wasn't crazy. Me going through the Ways was a bad, bad idea at the best of times. Instead, I untied my horse, Shadowfax, from a wooden post at the bottom of the tower and headed southeast, in the direction of my own little village.

I enjoyed the little references, like calling my horse Shadowfax. It wasn't like there was anyone around who could see me ride around with a gray cloak, a white staff, and a magic sword on a horse called Shadowfax and get the reference, or the joke. Tolkien wouldn't be born for centuries yet.

If I hadn't spent years on Ebenezar's farm, I probably would have been hopelessly lost in this time and place. Living in the woods, preparing my own food, and building my own house did not agree with my city-boy sensibilities, but at least I knew how to do it, unlike some people I knew.

Like Rowena. I wondered if she even knew how to prepare a campfire.

Rowena lived in the county of Warwickshire, and I lived a few days ride away in Hertfordshire, a ways north of London. The distances involved were tiny to my American standards, about a hundred miles by my guess. If I'd still had my Blue Beetle and it miraculously still worked, it'd be a trip of hours. But instead I had a horse, a far inferior, and messier, analogue to a car.

One that kept stealing my apples.

There were a few things I liked about my new surroundings, most of them related to magic. The first, and most important, was that enduring magic was just easier to work. Setting up wards to conceal and bar my campsite, and also to alert me if something did cross over them, would have been the work of an hour back home. Not because they were necessarily complicated, but because magic didn't like sticking around without effort. Here, it was a matter of will and a few spells, and campsite defenses would easily last until the next dawn, when sunrise would wash them away.

My overcoat was another example. It had taken a lot of effort to find a tailor capable and willing to make me something similar to my old leather duster, and it was the work of a few hours to imbue it with all of the defensive and quality-of-life enchantments I wanted, like temperature control. In the eight months I'd had the long brown overcoat, I'd only had to renew the enchantments once, a few weeks ago, and then with only a half hour's effort.

It made sleeping in the woods and along the side of the road more feasible as opposed to inns, where innkeeps and patrons would be unnerved by the way the temperature constantly fluctuated in my presence.

Three days later, as I approached the village of Dorham and started peeling away towards my house, a group of armed men led by an armored rider intercepted me.

* * *

Author's Note: Few preliminary bits of business:

One, yes, this is set way before the canon of either book series in post-Norman times. There won't be anything from modern times.

Two, Harry is from immediately post-Ghost Story (i.e. he went on to his judgment and did not wake up on Demonreach), with some personal items/gift sent along with him. The details of this will be explored in-story.

Three, this setting is a fusion leaning more towards the Dresden Files side, though with (what I should hope to be) obvious inspirations from HP.

Four, Godric Gryffindor: He does not exist. He is not going to exist. Harry is not going to adopt any form of Godric, Gryffindor, or Godric Gryffindor as a moniker. He's been replaced entirely by Harry.

Five, the first stretch of this fic can be viewed as "The Story of the Founding of Hogwarts, as told by Harry Dresden."


	2. Chapter 1-II

**July 1069**

Dorham was a village in the local hundred of Tring – a section of land valued at about a hundred hides, each supposedly enough to support a single household. I lived at a rocky section of the hundred between a few hides, close to a river, in a place unsuited to farming or heavy grazing. It was a good place to not have to deal with neighbors, and meant I didn't need to fight with anyone about taking up valuable farming land. And it also meant I didn't have to stay in the village, which was good for a few reasons, the strong second of which was thus:

Everyone _stank_.

Not horribly, people still recognized the importance of hygiene, but it was worse than I was used to. People didn't bathe fully that often, and by necessity they had to reuse clothes. Whatever soap they could scrounge up also wasn't as effective. It wasn't like I hadn't dealt with pungently fragranced people before, I'd lived in a city and run into my fair share of guys that thought bathing was a monthly affair at best, but it still wasn't pleasant. Then take that general smell and add some sweating in armor under the late summer sun, and you didn't get anything enticing.

Really, I smelled the armsmen before I saw them.

There were a half-dozen footmen, clad in hard leather and sparse mail, each with a javelin, a shortsword, and a long shield shaped like a teardrop. Six men was a sizable fraction of the local fyrd, or army, and it made me a little nervous. It wasn't like I couldn't outrun or deal with six men, I'd dealt with far worse odds, but their presence signified any number of things, none of them good for me. That went double when I noticed the man in their midst, sitting on horseback. He was dressed in a heavier coat of mail, and was garbed with a long spear in addition to javelin, sword, and shield, albeit a smaller and rounder one.

I sighed at the sight and turned Shadowfax to meet them. "Hail, thegn!" I cried.

My technical landlord frowned as I approached, and he brought his horse to the front, pulling a little ahead of his men. "Wizard," he replied in a gruffer, almost grinding tone.

"Did something happen?" I asked. It was a redundant question; he didn't seek me out for social reasons.

"You could say that," he replied.

"Well, I've been on the road for days and am looking to sit down in something comfortable. Can we discuss whatever the issue is at my home?" I asked.

He worked his lips for a few moments before tersely nodding. "I think that would be best," he said.

That wasn't a good sign.

* * *

My house was even smaller than my old apartment. It was a single open space containing both kitchen, dining table, bed, fireplace, and rocking chair. I'd also dug out a small basement to serve as a laboratory, though I didn't have much to fill it at the moment. Money was hard to come by, arcane goods even more so. It wasn't like I could just go down to market and find an occult bookseller, after all. Those were frowned upon at best, illegal at worst.

I dug out and poured some watered ale into a pair of cups, then handed one to my landlord.

Thegn Eadric Alfricson was tall by the standards of the locals, but still a bit short compared to me. At six feet he barely came up to my chin. He was much bulkier however, and most of that bulk was muscle. He looked like the type that could crack my skull with a single punch. His face was the kind of battered ugly that came from being introduced to a brick on a regular basis, his brown hair was cut very short, and he was missing one tooth, a small one off to the side of his nonexistent smile.

We were on cordial terms. I didn't interfere with his governance or people, helped out where I could without causing too much property damage, and in turn people didn't anger the ornery, fiery wizard that the temperature was always wrong around.

Speaking of, the inside of the house was feeling rather hot even without a fire, so I'd opened all the windows to let cooler summer air circulate.

I dragged two cushioned stools out from under the table, set them across from one another, and then sat down at one end. After a light sip of my ale and a suspicious glare around my house, Eadric sat down across from me.

"So, Thegn Eadric, what seems to be the problem?" I asked.

"Sir," he said with an expression that even a lemon couldn't make sourer. "The damn Normans insist that it's sir, not thegn."

"Sir, then," I said. "Same question."

Eadric drank some more ale and then set the cup down on the table. "Harvest time is next month, tax season after that. The lord of the hundred – you know who he is?"

I shook my head. "As a rule, I avoid local politics."

"Were it so easy for all of us," Eadric grumbled. "Earl Robert's the lord of Tring, King William's half-brother. Used to be Eustace, for all of a year before he revolted and was revoked as lord." Eadric looked like he wanted to spit, but stopped himself. "Good riddance."

I nodded along, waiting for him to get to the point. He took another swig.

"Tax season," he said, getting back on track. "Normans are coming around surveying the land. Bad enough, but it was tolerable the last few years. Now, there's a fancy fool of a knight along with the usual pair, and Eva's been mooning over him the past few days they've stayed here. And it's been days; that's strange enough."

Eva was his teenage daughter. A nice girl from what I'd heard; I hadn't met her. I knew Eadric also had an older son, Cuthbert, and two children that hadn't made it past their early years, victims of the high child mortality rates in these times.

"So, she's a young girl admiring a dashing knight," I said slowly. "I can see how you may not like that, but I'm not seeing how that's my problem."

"I'm getting to that," he said with a dour face. "If it was just her, I'd tell her to look elsewhere, bear down on the fool somewhat. But it's not just her, it's half the servants, and more importantly I've caught my wife looking at him appraisingly." His lips twisted. "And the fool's not that dashing."

I frowned thoughtfully. That sounded a little more serious, but it could just be a case of an ostracized Anglo-Saxon lord feeling jealous and insecure in the face of a younger knight. On the other hand, by all accounts Eadric and his wife, Hilda, were in love, so her checking out a Norman knight in front of her husband may have been odd.

Or the rumors were false and their marriage wasn't the most serene, and Eadric was being jealous. In which case I needed to tread very, very carefully.

"Has he touched iron with bare skin?" I asked, starting down my checklist of alluring beings. In Britannia, faeries were both the most common and the most likely subject.

"He has. Made a jape at our cutlery," Eadric said, looking my way.

"You wanted a way to check for faeries, I gave you one," I replied, a little annoyed at his manner. "So not a faerie or Sidhe. Rules out the most obvious. Hmm… describe this knight to me."

Eadric took his cup of ale and downed the rest of it. "A finger shorter than me, slimmer by half. Black curls that Eva says are shining, well-groomed face, straight teeth, heavy set of mail, fancy horse."

"Not much to go off of," I said. "I'll need to see him in person to make a better evaluation. What are his eyes like though? Those are usually a good sign of strangeness."

Eadric scowled and drummed gloved fingers against my dining table, rattling it slightly with every tap. I'd need to fix that.

"Bluish, I think," he said after a few moments. "Bluish gray."

I frowned. "Gray, huh," I said, getting an inkling for what might have been going on. "How has this knight been acting around your wife and daughter?"

"Smiling, laughing, and wooing the latter, winking at the former," he said with obvious distaste. "I've had to stop Cuthbert thrice over from trying to fight him. Brave lad, but the fool seems to be an accomplished swordsman. Cuthbert would lose himself in anger and then lose the bout."

"And when he was doing that, did his eyes seem to grow or gleam silver?" I asked.

Eadric frowned and scowled some more. After another few moments of silence, he slowly said, "Maybe. I wasn't looking that closely. Eva went on about him at some length though, and she mentioned a silver gleam. I took it as girlish fancy. Was I wrong?"

"Maybe," I said idly, turning the scenario over in my head. "But probably not."

"Do you know what manner of creature is in my house?" Eadric demanded.

"I have an idea. I'd have to see him to make sure, but I think it may be a vampire," I said.

"A revenant?" Eadric asked skeptically. "He did not look like a walking corpse. Rather the opposite."

"No," I said, shaking my head. There were 'traditional' vampires running around Europe, but they were more myth than fact, rare loners that occasionally cropped up due to ghosts somehow coming to repossess their decaying bodies. Instead, there was just one type of commonly accepted vampire in Europe – the White Court. In the magical community, that's generally what people meant when they said vampire, courtesy of the Red Court still being stuck over in the New World and the Black Court not existing yet.

"Vampires are half-human," I said. "Depends on the individual, but some can be pretty normal. They inspire and feed on emotion. Despair, anger, fear." I paused before the next one. "Lust."

Eadric's expression turned thunderous.

"You're right about Cuthbert losing in a fight though," I went on. "Most of the time, vampires are basically just pretty, healthy humans. A bit stronger, a bit faster, but nothing out of the ordinary. But the emotion they sup on forms a kind of fuel for them they can use to make themselves stronger, faster. If your son started meaningfully challenging one, they'd just burn some of that fuel to beat him. Maybe you could take him, if you overwhelmed him at the start and fought in public to force him to limit himself, but…"

Eadric scowled. "What is one of them doing here?"

I shrugged. "Beats me. Looking for new territory? Vampires like to live large. Or maybe he's a decent sort and he's just looking around, feeding as he must."

Eadric narrowed his eyes at me, but I didn't meet his look. I didn't want to start a soulgaze and deal with all that baggage, especially as Eadric was already suspicious of me. Nor did I want to explain to him that my half-brother had been a vampire, a Raith, and he'd had to struggle with his Hunger for the better half of his life and finally found fulfillment in being a falsely gay barber to rich women because he couldn't hold down a regular job without some woman jumping him a few weeks in.

"He's seducing my wife," he said.

"I get it," I replied. "And I'll take a look. If he is being nefarious, driving him off isn't going to be that easy. If he's with the Normans, he might be looking to stir up trouble. Get you or your son pissed off, start an incident, you know the drill."

Eadric scowled, then nodded. "I would not be surprised. The new king expressed his desire to keep many of the old lords, but there's been a winnowing all the same. And Dorham is prime land, close to Berkhamsted." He scowled further. "If he is here to cause trouble, what can you do?"

I drank from my cup for the first time and mulled the liquid around as I thought. "I'm not sure," I said. "He's traveling with officials and other knights, I presume?"

Eadric nodded. "One of each."

"So I can't deal with him publicly, not really. Maybe I can provoke him into a duel, but I'm not looking forward to that. I've seen vampires up close, and I don't fancy fighting one with a sword unless I have a trick up my sleeve. It all depends on why he's here and what he wants, really. Until I know that, I can't say what can be done."

"Then you'll have to come back with me, to the manor," Eadric said. He didn't look too pleased by that.

I held up a hand, then finished the rest of my cup in a few long gulps. Then I put it back down and sighed.

"Yeah," I said, not looking forward to the idea either. "Just give me a few moments to grab some things and we'll be on our way."

* * *

Author's Note: I'm making an effort to be roughly historical here, but if I overlook or forget or misinterpret something, I'm probably going to roll with my first writing for purposes of narrative. It's already an AU after all.


	3. Chapter 1-III

**July 1069**

I ushered Eadric out of my house and then took stock of my equipment. I always traveled with my staff, my sword, my blasting rod, my mother's pentacle, my shield bracelet, and a small collection of general purpose potions. The staff was roughly carved out of white, vaguely fae wood and served as my primary focus, though it could also double as a quarterstaff in a pinch. It was also loaded with enchantments that I usually put on force rings, but since I didn't have any rings now, I had to make do with what I had.

My sword, along with my cloak, I had no good explanations for. I knew my gray cloak was my Warden's cloak, on account of blood never sticking to it, and I hadn't been _that_ surprised to wake up in the past with it.

You know, ignoring the general strangeness of waking up a near millennia in the past after dying. Which I blame God for, for the record.

What I couldn't explain was the sword. It was very definitely a Warden sword, Captain Luccio's work, but she'd never made one for me on account of an incident that disrupted her magic. I doubt she would have made a Warden sword for me after I was dead, so even the tenuous link of 'maybe it came with me when I died' that applied to the cloak didn't work for the sword. I just had it; I didn't know why.

It'd certainly proved useful though.

My blasting rod was really more of a thin wand, akin to the common foci of wizards in this age. For whatever reason staves were going out of style in favor of smaller, less conspicuous sticks, and I was considered a stuffy traditionalist for still using a staff. That really made me laugh. Me, a traditionalist? Hah. I also only used my blasting rod for fire magic and evocations, which drew even more squints on account of using two foci. But I was used to people looking down on me, and it was my personal style and preference, so I didn't care.

My mother's pentacle, by comparison, was mostly sentimental. Despite that, I would have easily sacrificed just about anything else I had to hold onto it. It was the only link I still had to my mother. Its use as a focus for my faith and beliefs in magic and its ability to be used as a flashlight were distant second and third qualities. There was something else though. Caught in the center of the pentacle was a small gleaming ruby, bright as a drop of blood. It was another heirloom of my mother's, the sum total of her knowledge of the Ways contained within. The bulk of the knowledge was centuries out of date – in the wrong direction, at that – but the ruby also held an understanding for how they developed and changed, how to read and predict the Ways. I'd used it all of once since waking up in this time, but the one time I had it had proven its worth.

My shield bracelet was a rough replica of my old one, and easily the most expensive item I owned – and for good reason. Like the old one it was made of silver, with little shield-like charms covering its entire length. It was far more elaborate than most other defensive talismans I'd seen, but in my experience there was no such thing as spending too much on defense. You never knew when you might need to stop a rampaging demon gorilla, after all.

The potions were products of the general endurance of magic. Draughts to dull pain, speed healing, suppress fatigue, that kind of thing. For a few months I'd tried including an escape potion, but those unfortunately still expired quickly and brewing one wasn't exactly cheap or easy nowadays.

I didn't have much at my house by comparison. A few potions I held in storage to keep them potent for longer, specialized for effects that I didn't feel the need to have constant access to. A few trinkets bearing minor enchantments. All of them were highly situational, but a few of them might be useful if I needed to get into a fight with a vampire.

I flipped back the rug near the bed and opened the trapdoor underneath. Set into the ground was a rough wooden ladder, which I descended into my basement. It was tiny, barely fifty square feet in all. It held a shelf with some books, another shelf with some trinkets, a box filled with potions, and a circle painstakingly etched into the ground, taking up most of the space.

I didn't work there, really. Anytime I wanted to read, or brew potions, or do almost anything related to magic, I did it in the main room. The basement was just a storage and summoning area. Still, I did have plans to turn it into a proper laboratory, once I actually got my hands on more things to fill the space and expanded the place.

In the end, I settled for a potion that briefly gave me the strength of a horse and a twig that, if broken, should jar the mind out of foreign influences. Both went into some of the few pockets I had in my duster.

Then I came back up, closed everything up, went outside, activated the wards, and got on my horse. Then we rode off to Dorham Manor for a meeting with a vampire.

* * *

My first thought upon seeing Timothée Renouth was that he could give Thomas a run for his money. He looked every inch the kind of dashing knight that would capture hearts at a tourney, and he clearly knew it. Looking at him, I could just feel the concentrated smugness and air of 'I'm better than you.' Classic vampire traits.

Or maybe that was just on account of him being a French knight. Could've been both.

Dorham Manor was a little wooden burg surrounded by a simple palisade, a stone's throw past the actual village. It had a gate and guard towers and looked every bit like a solid stretch of fortification, but all that wood clustered close together just reinforced what a bad idea it would be for me to resort to my usual tactics.

Burning down the house of my landlord would not endear me to him.

The suspected vampire and definite pretty boy was training in the front yard against another knight, though where his opponent was wearing proper armor and training gear, the pretty boy had elected to wear a tight tunic that showed off his muscles. The threat to his safety was clearly appreciated, judging by all the women eating him up with their eyes.

Riding next to Eadric as I was, I could practically hear him grind his teeth at the sight, and as he passed through the gate I took a moment to look around at the people.

There wasn't an obvious air of desire and lust, but then again, I wasn't expecting there to be. The White Court prided themselves on subtlety and control, and using their vampiric nature as a blunt hammer was frowned upon. But all the ladies watching him did look to be a little excited. Not enough for me to definitely state he was using some kind of allure, they didn't look like they were a second away from tearing off their clothes and mobbing him, but something still felt funny.

And even if he was completely normal, or a vampire that hadn't fully awoken to his Hunger yet, he probably wasn't up to much good. Showing off to the ladies was one thing; flagrantly flirting with a lord's wife and daughter was another, and so was showing off in front of his entire household. Whatever else, this guy was stirring the pot.

As the man adjudicating the bout called a halt and the fighters stepped back and nodded at each other, I surreptitiously reached into the pocket I'd put the twig in. I waited for the pretty boy to turn my way, away from all his admirers, before I snapped the twig and muttered something under my breath.

A light breeze played over the yard, and the women I saw standing along the sides, in doorways, and on the balcony all blinked as one, looking faintly lost for a few moments. Then they all recovered and turned to look at Eadric, and me.

Well, while that didn't confirm the presence of a vampire, it did confirm that something strange was going on.

"Sir Alfricson!" the pretty boy called out, his voice a smooth baritone. There was a definite French accent there, but his English was strong. "I apologize for commandeering your yard, but the urge to train called to me."

"It's no trouble," Eadric replied, in a tone that suggested the opposite. "But I'm not certain of the value in training in a simple tunic."

"Ah, but what value is training if you don't challenge yourself?" he asked. Then he turned to look at me, and met my eyes. I felt the start of a soulgaze, and then looked further down, at his nose. I wasn't sure he noticed. "And an unfamiliar face. That should be rectified, no?"

I was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to just ask me who I was, and that Eadric should have introduced me instead. But a glance at my landlord showed that he was too angry to really reply, so it fell to me to take the lead.

"I go by Harry Dresden," I said.

"Harry Dresden," the man said, slowly enunciating my name. "I don't think I've heard of you before."

"I'm not surprised; I haven't heard of you either."

He laughed. "Ah, then let me fix that! I am Sir Timothée Renouth, knight in service to his lordship Robert, Count of Mortain." He gave a little bow, to which I nodded.

I wasn't the most polite sort, but I knew my way around these political pleasantries. Smile, wave, endure, survive the backstabbing, it was nothing I hadn't handled before.

"But what of you?" he asked. "Are you of Sir Eadric's fyrd? A housecarl?"

"No, just a tenant," I said.

"You seem very well-to-do for 'just' a tenant," he said, motioning in my direction. "Your cloak and sword look very fine indeed."

I debated avoiding his question and half-subtly telling him to fuck off. That would just make him more curious though, and rumors of me being a wizard had probably circulated through the manor a dozen times over by this point. A few pointed questions to a charmed washerwoman and he'd figure out I was here for him. Maybe it was better to make my intentions known from the start.

"Well, I am a member of the Fellowship of Saint Giles, colloquially known as the Jedi Order," I said, deciding to mix fact with fiction. A lot of fiction. And some self-amusement. Not too much though; the memory of all I'd lost was still fresh.

Timothy arched an eyebrow.

"I didn't pick the name," I lied. Well, it wasn't entirely a lie, I wasn't the first person to put those words and sounds in that order, but... ah, whatever. I'm the only one that gets it anyway.

Timothy hummed as if he didn't quite believe and then said, "Saint Giles," sounding out the name as if it were unfamiliar to him. To be fair, I hadn't known either until shortly before my death.

"Patron saint of outcasts, hermits, lepers, and the ill," I said. As I spoke, I could feel the air around me start to shift from hot to cold.

"An interesting collection," Timothy noted.

"We move around, helping people. Providing aid, driving out spirits, aiding the sick," I leaned on my acquired memories to pluck out a word in Ancient Etruscan, enduring the sudden pang as I did so, "dealing with _vampires_."

I saw Timothy twitch, and knew I'd hit the mark. Ancient Etruscan was the formal language of the White Court, like Latin was to the White Council.

"I see," he said, his voice completely calm. "A worthy task."

"Are we going to stand around all day?" Eadric demanded, his patience finally running out.

"Ah, my apologies, my curiosity got the better of me," Timothy said, bowing to Eadric, his eyes never leaving me. I smiled in his direction.

I never really enjoyed this kind of work. Sure, some part of me enjoyed crushing my enemies and seeing them driven before me – and man, is that sentence I never expected to write – but I've always ignored, suppressed, and restrained that part of me. I would have been perfectly satisfied just living in a city, doing magical busywork, starting a family, and ignoring events that promised to spiral out into a complete catastrophe.

But I could never actually manage that last part. For decades, any time a real problem had come up, I'd felt motivated by a righteous desire to protect people. I'd grumbled, I'd complained, I'd gotten lots of good offers to just look the other way and stand aside. But every time, I'd thrown myself into the fire. Sometimes literally.

I never got paid either, or really gained anything. It was just an inherent drive. And the present situation was no different in that regard. I didn't like Eadric, he didn't like me, none of this would improve my situation. In fact, dealing with a vampire that seemed connected to the local ruling nobility just promised more trouble and headaches down the line. But in the end, the math was very simple for me.

Vampire causing trouble? I stop them.

* * *

Author's Note: Harry's often said that in an earlier time, he could see himself working for a guy like Marcone. Also, Harry interacting with regular human politics just doesn't happen in canon – and Marcone doesn't count. So, I felt like mixing the two and throwing him way out of his comfort zone, and seeing what comes about.


	4. Chapter 1-IV

**July 1069**

The sun was steadily dipping into the west, and while twilight and sunset were probably still hours away, it was late enough to be suppertime. As it had the potential to be one of the better meals I'd had in months, I was moderately excited.

A stablehand took Shadowfax to the stables, and I agreed to surrender my sword, but I stood my ground on my staff. Eadric didn't look too pleased at that, but there was no way I was surrendering my main focus when a vampire with unknown intentions was around.

Eadric led us into a sparsely arranged dining room with barely enough room for all of us and directed me to sit close to him. Then servants came in with some bread, cheese, and passable ale as a kind of appetizer course, and we all settled in.

Eadric I'd already met and described, but the other three members of his household were new to me. Cuthbert had the shadow of his father's bulky frame, and his face looked like a derivative of what Eadric's might've been before it met with a ton of bricks, but on the whole he looked like a paler copy of pretty boy Timothy, a gangly boy still in the late stages of puberty and suffering through its woes, acne and sparse facial hair and all. He looked like he might be a teenage heartthrob in another few years though.

The looks clearly came from his mother, who even after four kids looked a classical beauty. She wouldn't have been gracing the cover of any supermodel magazines, but she could probably have fit in among the pages easily enough. Like her husband and son she had black hair, though hers was done up in curls. I didn't look much further or closer for a few reasons.

Eva looked like a young teenage clone of her mother, looking around the table with wide eyes – and glancing my way so much she almost reminded me of Molly – and that's all I'm going to write about a fourteen year old.

The other three people at the table were all Normans. There was pretty boy Timothy; besides him another knight, about average height, mid twenties, blond hair, scar across his face, wearing a fancy-looking blue and green doublet; the last looked more pudgy and pasty, clad in a simpler tunic, and was probably a scribe of some sort. I wasn't sure why he was at the table with us, I was under the impression macho knights generally looked down upon quillpushers, but I wasn't going to question it. I didn't have any actual issue with it, after all; power to the scribes and all that.

Maybe it was another calculated snub, now that I thought about it. The thirty-something guy certainly looked uncomfortable, sneaking glances at Timothy every once in a while, and not the juicy kind either.

Since Timothy was clearly trying to provoke some kind of reaction and Eadric – or Cuthbert – getting involved would lead to unpleasant violence, I decided to lead with my first and sometimes last resort.

Snarking off to people with power, now with extra class.

"So, Sir Timothy – may I call you Tim?" I asked.

Tim's companion looked at me as if I had grown a second head, as did the scribe, and Eadric looked caught between throttling me and letting me go on. Tim, though, just gave me a bemused, wary smile. "If you so wish. Though it's Timothée," he said, putting the proper emphasis on it.

"My apologies," I said insincerely. "I'm not familiar with Norman or knightly customs. Do knights like you usually go around collecting taxes?"

He smiled thinly. "We carry out our lord's will. If that calls for us to guard his assayers and get the lay of the land, then so be it."

"So you just do what your lord tells you to?" I asked, taking a sip of some ale and ignoring the way it suddenly warmed as it touched my lips.

"Don't all men? From kings to serfs, all follow the words of those greater than them, up to the Lord God in Heaven," he replied. "Or do you disagree?"

I did, but there wasn't an upside to saying that, so I just shook my head. "No, it just seems limiting, is all."

"Nobility is obligation," Tim said in a tone that almost sounded sincere. "More binding than being a simple wanderer, but more fulfilling too. But what about you? My knowledge of this land is still paltry, but to my knowledge Dresden is not a Saxon name." He turned to look at the scribe. "In fact, aren't distinct family names are rare here, Andre?"

Andre looked like he very much did not like being the center of attention, particularly at a table where the tension was so thick you could practically smell it, but he swallowed, nodded, and stammered out, "That does seem to be the case, yes."

"What exactly are you asking?" I asked. I had a pretty good idea, he was fishing for information just like I was, but I wasn't just going to give anything away.

"Why, what brings a man like you to this small corner of the world," he said. "You're very unusual, to my eyes at least. A traveling monk, armed with a fine sword? Or did I miss my mark?"

"I wouldn't say monk, not really," I said, biting into some questionably edible bread. "And I don't travel so much anymore. Bit of a pain at my age."

"But you did," Tim pressed.

I nodded, thinking through what I could share and what I couldn't. I could fairly easily rework a lot of the details of my old life and present them in a new form without any problems, since all of the baggage and most of the sensitive information had been left in the future.

"And you said you drove out spirits. What did you mean by that?"

"Hauntings, curses, that sort of thing," I replied.

"There must be some interesting stories in there," he said.

"Less than you would think. Many stories like that start with people attributing common things to nefarious causes. The rustle of the wind for fell spirits, servants moving things while cleaning for poltergeists, that sort of thing." I decided the story of Darth Wannabe could be told mostly wholesale without much editing, and wouldn't reveal too much. "Or idiot youngsters pretending at power."

"Oh?" he asked.

"A few years ago this woman came to me, saying she'd been cursed. She relayed a typical tale of bad luck, dropped bowls, falls, bumps. Nothing out of the ordinary, but she thought she was cursed, so everything bad seemed worse. I performed a cleansing out of goodwill, and she didn't come back. Maybe there was a small curse on her, maybe it was just mindset. That's usually what I deal with." I took a swig. "I thought that was the end of it, and then a week later this group of boys, barely men, show up at my door, saying I desecrated their works."

I took a moment to look around the room, finding that Eadric and Cuthbert were still staring suspiciously at me – no change there – Hilda was watching me with interest, and Eva's eyes were wide. Tim, though, just looked amused. I think he saw where this was going, and was willing to let me finish the story before pressing for more sensitive stories.

"You were attacked by warlocks?" Eva asked.

"Eva," Hilda chided, sparing the girl from what would probably have been a glowering glare from her father.

"I imagine they thought they were warlocks," I said with a snort. "They challenged me, and demanded I defend myself, drawing sticks and rods and other supposedly occult accoutrements."

"What happened next?" Tim asked.

"I drew my sword and pointed it at them. I'd never seen three almost-grown men freeze so fast."

Tim chuckled. "Were any of them even armed?"

"One of them could have poked out my eye with a stick, maybe," I said. "I told them off and sent them packing, and thought that was the end of it. Then they came back a few hours later and tried to burn my house down, so I told the guards about them."

It hadn't happened exactly like that. They'd just thrown a smoke bomb inside amidst a moment of chaos rather than setting my house on fire, and while I had called the cops on them, they'd gotten off with small charges for property damage rather than accusations of black magic and the attending penalties.

"Why did you not do that from the beginning? They were practicing black magic," Cuthbert said with obvious disapproval.

"If I severely punished every instance of youthful stupidity I'd come across, I'd have a lot more scars," I said dryly. "As would half the world, I would think. They weren't causing any real harm, and I'd hoped that being faced with meaningful resistance and consequences would dissuade them. It was only once they resorted to arson that I revised my opinion."

"Where did you acquire your sword, if I may ask?" Tim asked. "I only caught glimpses of it, but it seems finely made."

"It was made for me shortly after I joined the Order," I said. "The one who made it isn't around any longer, however."

"A shame," he said. "Do you consider yourself a warrior, then?"

"By necessity. I frequently find myself having to stop people doing what they shouldn't," I said, looking right at him.

He smiled. "What would you say to a bout on the morrow, then? We shall be leaving soon, and you intrigue me."

I pursed my lips. I wasn't keen on getting into a swordfight with him. I'd seen Thomas with a saber, and I know I would have gotten crushed in seconds if I'd ever fought him. On the other hand, this guy was leaving, it would be in public, and if I played my cards just right then it might provide me an opportunity to make him think twice about coming back. The odds weren't exactly in my favor, but the risk wasn't as great either, and there was an opportunity here.

"If our host doesn't object?" I asked, glancing at Eadric. He looked annoyed, and faintly relieved, and after a few seconds he nodded.

"Splendid," Tim said with a smile.

The main course of beef and soup came out soon after, and the rest of the supper passed in awkward half-silence, the occasional conversations spurred on mostly by Hilda, then withering under the glares and tension from the men of the house. Tim and the other Normans excused themselves after a while, leaving me with Eadric's family. I ignored them and kept eating, determined to enjoy the fairly well cooked beef as long as I could, and was surprised when Hilda shooed off the rest of her family, even Eadric, and stayed behind for a moment.

I chewed slowly and eyed her warily as she sat down across from me.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry. The way dear Eadric goes on about you, one would think you were an ugly, malodorous giant." She eyed me up and down clinically. "Though I suppose that last one is true."

"I ate my Wheaties," I said, prompting her to cock her head. "Don't worry about it. Should you really be staying behind with a strange man, when Eadric's already suspicious?"

"Eadric worries too much," she said dismissively. "Timothée's just a nice man."

"That you and every other woman in the household are lusting over," I pointed out.

For a moment it looked like Hilda would roll her eyes and dismiss my words, and then she settled down and really looked at me. "You don't sound like you're just humoring my husband's fears," she said slowly.

I shook my head. "Nope."

Hilda grew concerned. "Are… are we safe?" she asked.

"If Tim was going to do anything really harmful, he would've done so already," I said. "Maybe he's just a confrontational, aggressive ass who enjoys riling up your family. Maybe he's fishing for an excuse. Either way, his… strangeness is obviously secondary here, more importantly nothing's actually happened, and assuming he leaves tomorrow like he implied, everything will then go back to normal. Well, you might have to deal with your daughter pining after him, which is a concern, but not one you'll need a wizard for."

"But… I…" She sighed. "I… I suppose I have been acting odd, but-"

"Hey, don't worry about it. I know how it feels," I said.

It took me a moment, and Hilda looking at me strangely, to realize that I'd implied I was gay. And it wasn't even the first time I'd been mistaken for being gay for a vampire. By a pretty older woman, no less.

"There are women like him too," I added hastily.

"Ah," Hilda said. It seemed that whatever tolerance and acceptance she had for wizards, homosexuals were still out there for her.

"Look, I'll have a talk with him before or after the duel, figure out what he's doing here, and make it clear he's not welcome back. Then that'll be it, for you at least."

She frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Well, knowing my luck, that won't be it for me," I said.

She smiled. "My apologies." Her lips curled into a thoughtful frown. "That story you told. Was the woman actually cursed?"

"Barely," I said. "Like I said, it was basically just a run of regular bad luck. Would've faded away on its own in a week, maybe two. I've seen much weirder manifestations of curses."

"Like?" she prompted.

"I once saw a man die by way of a frozen slab of chicken falling on him from a great height," I said. It was actually a turkey, but that's an American animal, so I paraphrased for Hilda's benefit.

She blinked in surprise.

"Yeah, I was just as shocked," I added. "The kids were still idiots though. Had maybe a thimbleful of power between the three of them, barely enough to curdle a cup of milk. Their attempts to threaten me were laughable."

Hilda took a deep breath and nodded. "Well, thank you for helping us, Harry. As it seems Eadric does have reason to be concerned, I should be on my way."

I nodded, then hummed thoughtfully. "Actually, one thing before you go."

She paused in the process of getting up. "Yes?"

"Could I get a pie? Or sweetbread, or cookies, or anything like that?" I asked.

"Why?" she asked, a little confused.

"Wizardly bribes," I replied.

She stared at me for a few moments before shaking her head. "I'll see what the cook can arrange."

"Thank you," I said with a nod. "And good night."

* * *

Author's Note: I'm generally reticent to go to the extent of physical… description canon Harry does, triply so when it comes to underage characters.


	5. Chapter 1-V

**July 1069**

The bribe came in the form of a hastily baked pie, delivered to the door of my guest room. My former go-to for this kind of arrangement had been pizza, but I'm not sure if that even exists yet. And if it does, that's only in Italy. Regardless of whether pizza existed in Italy right now or not, it didn't in England, so I needed to figure out a way to introduce pizza in England.

But that's a project for later.

After throwing up a set of privacy, alarm, and minor defense wards, I sat down on the rug-covered floor of the guest room, pie still on the plate, and quietly started invoking a Name, putting only a little power into each call. I wasn't in any rush, and being polite was generally a good idea.

After six repetitions of her Name, the entity it described appeared before me. She was a small, butterfly winged humanoid about half the size of my pinky, surrounded by a baseball sized globe of blue light.

"Larissa," I said, nodding to the pixie.

It was hard to make out the pixie's features between her small size and the bright light she emitted. All I could really see was that she wore a green open-backed tunic, or dress, or something in between. She bobbed up and down in front of me for a few moments, and I imagined she was looking between me and the pie.

"Wizard," she said, her voice pitched like she'd just huffed a helium balloon. "This is not your abode."

"No, it isn't," I agreed. "I'm a guest here."

"And the pie?" she asked suspiciously.

"A gift from the lady of the house. It could be yours," I said.

The fluttering hum of Larissa's wings grew audibly more agitated. "And what do you ask in return?"

I put on a more solemn expression. "There is a vampire in this manor, and the lord of the house has asked me to make him leave." I held up a hand. "Which is my task, and not yours. But I'm curious about what he is and what he's doing. And I know the Little Folk are good at getting around unnoticed. So I want you to follow him for…" I did a little mental math, trying to guess where Tim would go from here and how long he'd spend there until trouble came for me again. "Five days, then report back to me."

"And you offer a simple pie in return?" she asked.

"As a down payment," I said. "And a penny's worth of sweets on completion."

A penny's worth of sweets was a ridiculous amount for most, and would cut into my sparse finances quite a bit. But I was asking the Little Folk to perform extended, dangerous work, so I figured it couldn't hurt to be generous.

Larissa's buzzing grew more excited. I wasn't sure she fully realized the value of money, but I'd made my offer sound magnanimous. "Promise?" she asked.

"I give you my word," I said, and meant to keep it. Unless I died sometime in the next five days, but then I would have bigger problems.

Larissa thought about for another few seconds, then buzzed over to the pie. "How will we recognize him?"

"I'll duel him on the morrow. Just watch, and you'll see," I said. "Do we have an agreement?"

Larissa's response was to start digging into the pie. Messily. And disproportionately. It's an enduring mystery to me where they put all that food.

I considered asking if she should provide that to some of her fellow pixies, then decided to not get between a ravenous faerie and her food. Instead I stood up, took off my clothes, snuffed out the candles, closed and barred the window, and settled into bed fully expecting to be woken up in the middle of the night.

I was, unfortunately, not pleasantly surprised.

The first sign that someone was at the door came when the door rattled slightly and the alarm wards I'd woven into it started blaring in my head. Groggy and annoyed, I sat up, grabbed my staff, threw on my overcoat, and stalked to the door, which had fallen still and silent by this point.

"What do you want?" I growled.

"To converse openly, wizard," Tim said, his already soft voice further muffled by the interposing door.

"In the middle of the night?" I grumbled.

"When else would we have privacy?"

Intellectually, I knew that. I'd even prepared for it. In the moment, all I really wanted was to go back to sleep.

"And what's my assurance you won't do anything?" I demanded.

Tim chuckled. "If I wished you harm, wizard, I would not politely try the door to your bedroom that you have no doubt ensorcelled."

He had a point there. Still, as I went to unlatch and open the door, I kept my staff pointed in his direction. Then I backed up.

"Come in, and close the door after you," I said.

Normally I wouldn't have given an invitation like that, but I was a guest on someone else's property. Threshold rules didn't apply to a guest bedroom, so verbal permission had no weight mystically speaking.

As he cracked open the door, I muttered, "_Flickum bicus_," and lit the candles in the room.

Tim was wearing the same white tunic he'd had in the practice yard, along with a pair of white house pants. Color coding much? He had one hand raised in a disarming gesture, and moved slowly as he entered the room and closed the door.

"And that's far enough," I said. "Start talking. What do you want?"

"To reach an accord. While I am looking forward to the morrow, I don't believe there is any need for true acrimony or conflict."

"I'd like to believe that," I said.

"Tis true," he said. "I mean you no harm or ill will."

"And the people of this house? What about them?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I cannot help my alluring nature, wizard, nor the acrimony with which the lords of the house see me."

"Yeah, sure you can't," I drawled. "You just had to go around openly flirting with the ladies and trudging on Eadric's rights, acting as the lord in his own home. You couldn't help yourself."

Tim's lips quirked into a smile. "What is the Sir Eadric to you, wizard?"

"He's my landlord," I replied.

"A very poor and unwelcoming one, judging by all the glares. Why defend him?"

"Let's get one thing straight," I said. "Even if Eadric was a complete and utter asshole, I'd defend him in this instance, because you are the one trying to cause trouble. I want you to stop. End of story."

He raised his hands disarmingly. "Very well, very well, I'll be gone on the morrow and like as not never come back. But the question remains: why trouble yourself for one such as him? There are many other lords and patrons that would be more supportive."

"Like you?" I asked dryly.

"I am but a simple knight," he demurred.

"Sure," I drawled, stretching out the word.

"But the Count Robert is high in the esteem of His Grace, and he would welcome a man such as you."

"Ah, so you're going through indirect patronage through your puppet," I said.

"Count Robert is his own man," Tim replied.

"Again, Tim, I'm sure," I said. "You're not the first to make me offers like that, and I don't think you'll be the last. I'll say to you what I've said to everyone else. No deal."

Tim sighed. "Very well. But the offer remains open."

"And so does the door," I replied. "Good night, sir. You should get some sleep before your beating."

Tim chuckled again. It was completely polite, and even sounded sincere, and it was also starting to get on my nerves. "Perhaps you should follow your own advice. Good night, wizard."

I waited for him to leave, then barred the door and snuffed out the candles with a word. Then I grumbled and quoted Danny Glover, and went back to bed.

* * *

The rest of the night passed without incident, and I woke up feeling only a little sore and ornery. I bemoaned the lack of showers for the millionth time, then got dressed, went out, and asked a servant where I could wash my face. The water was cold and turned colder when I approached, but at least it served to wake me up the rest of the way.

Breakfast consisted of porridge and watered down ale, and passed mostly in silent anticipation. I eyed Tim, who seemed to be surrounded by a faint glow, and wondered how many people he'd fed on last night and how far he would be willing to go today.

I knew I would have to find a way to get access to my saddlebags without him seeing me, so I excused myself early and said I would go see to my horse as he was an ornery fellow. Which Shadowfax was.

I made my way out of the manor and into the attached stable, and started looking for my saddlebags. I found them as I heard people start moving around outside, and quickly fished out my strength potion, opened and downed it, and shivered as fire seemed to burn through my veins. Then I stoppered the flask and put it back, and went out to face the music.

Tim was already waiting for me, clad in what looked to be a different but still tight white tunic, sword in hand. An older servant, a butler by the look of him, was standing off to the side and holding my sword. There was a small ring of guards that formed an almost complete circle, branching out from Eadric, who was once again scowling.

I wondered if his face was capable of making a different expression.

"No armor?" I asked as I approached the circle.

Tim shrugged. "It did not seem fair to gird myself so when you lacked armor of your own. And besides, it makes things more interesting, no?"

And an easier way of getting an open wound that might get infected, laying me low. Though I doubted he was actually gunning for that, since that just promised a death curse a week down the line. Also, I wouldn't be taking off my overcoat, regardless of the potential consequences. I liked living, on the whole.

"That it does, I guess," I said, nodding in thanks to the maybe-butler as I took my sword from him and gave it a few swings. I didn't use it often, and I didn't have a practice partner, but I tried to stay in shape and have a good sense for how to handle it. You never knew when a reinforced, magic-cutting sword could come in handy.

"As you are the challenged, what would you like, Harry? To go to first strike, first blood, third strike, what?" he asked.

"First strike," I said. An extended fight and display of skill was not in my favor. Tim was better than me, faster than me, and could probably get stronger than me if he felt the need to. My only chance, as I'd told Eadric the day before, was to overwhelm him right out of the gate. And I'd only get one shot at that. Fortunately, I was fairly confident I could do so.

The morning light combined with my aura to make the air searingly hot, and I saw a bead of sweat start to trail down Tim's face. Of course, being a vampire, it was perfectly positioned to emphasize the contours of his face.

I got into the ring with him, then brought my sword up into a high guard position, in preparation for an overhead swing. I was betting a lot on this maneuver, but I was fairly confident about it too. Medieval iron and steelworking techniques weren't bad, but I doubted they held a candle to Luccio's work. The Warden-Captain had been a master of her craft, and her work was good enough that a single Warden had almost killed the Red King with one of her swords. How much simpler things would have been if Morgan had succeeded then.

Or, well, things probably would have been worse, with a saner head at the helm of the Red Court, but I could dream.

I kept my posture tense and my eyes on Tim's legs, anticipating him dodging my first strike. It was the obvious move, and I needed to be ready to counter it. I was so focused on my opponent I almost missed Eadric grit out, "Begin," and only realized what was happening when Tim started to move.

Then I took a step forward, bellowed out a war cry, and swung my sword.

Tim tried to slide out of the way, but I had quite a number of advantages on him. I was a foot taller than him and had a longer sword, so I was able to leverage my greater reach to hit him even as he moved. I was passably familiar with swordfighting, not enough to be any real good at it, but enough to know how people would respond in certain situations, what the standard responses would be. I knew how the Hunger magnified a vampire's strength and speed, how to tell when one was doing so. I knew enough to basically categorize Tim right from the start.

He had none of that.

He went for a standard block, bringing up his sword at an angle that should have deflected my strike, and probably would have under normal circumstances.

But I could tell he wasn't tapping into his Hunger, not yet, which meant he wasn't superhumanly strong at the moment, or far more importantly, superhumanly fast. Instead, I was the one with superhuman strength. And I have to say, that feels _great_.

I reacted and moved faster than I could really process, and I still don't quite remember how it went down. What I remember is that his regular sword with my magic sword with an incredible amount of force. And since my sword and grip wasn't about to give, that meant his did.

I didn't quite shear through the middle of his blade like a hot knife through butter, snapping it in half. Instead, I just chipped it. What I did manage, however, was to slam Tim's sword right out of his hands and into the dirt. Then I arrested the blow just before my sword could start cutting into his leg, and instead held it point first to his abdomen.

I saw a lot of emotions flicker over Tim's face as he realized what had happened – anger, annoyance, fear – before they were quickly washed away by a resigned smile. "Ah. Well, I wasn't expecting that," he said.

"I'm very confident in my colleague's work," I said, waiting for him to relax his stance. Once he did so, I pulled my sword back back. It wasn't even scuffed.

"Did he leave behind any students or apprentices?" Tim asked. "I think I'd very much like to acquire even a descendant of their work."

"She, actually. And no," I said.

Tim's eyebrows rose. "I see. That is unfortunate." His gaze briefly flickered up and past me, presumably to the manor's balcony, before he smiled in a deprecating fashion. "Well, display of strength over skill or not, you have won. Congratulations."

"Winning is winning," I said. "Now don't you have somewhere else to be?"

I didn't stick around long after that, just enough to see the Normans on their way, before I took my horse and my saddlebags back to my house. I could tell when I wasn't wanted, and Eadric was a principled enough man that I'd get some compensation for this showing up at my doorstep. Hopefully it would come in the form of actual money rather than some trade good or a bunch of chickens. I had other things to prepare for.

Once I got back to my house and let Shadowfax go free to roam and graze and hopefully not stud any nearby mare – that had been an awkward series of conversations – I dug out a small piece of vellum, a quill, and an inkpot, and began invoking a different Name.

Messenger owls were fascinating creatures. I was confident they couldn't be entirely natural – that is, that they had to have been made somehow – but I didn't actually know anything about them besides the fact that they could be bound, called, and asked to carry messages between wizards, and that the messages usually arrived. My best guess was that some ancient wizard of yore had gotten tired of the more limited avenues of long distance communication available to him or her and did the questionably irresponsible wizard thing and made a servitor race for the purpose.

The only downside of calling _this_ particular messenger owl was that he was emblematic of Helga's terrible naming sense.

My letter consisted of a short summary of the situation and a request to come over and help if she could. Knowing my luck, this situation with Tim was going to escalate, and having a second friendly wizard along – a real novelty for me – sounded like a good idea.

Rowena wasn't an option because she was a recluse, and Salazar wasn't an option because he was Salazar.

After that I opened the window and set about cooking lunch, preparing a second, far smaller dish for the incoming owl. It still took the better part of an hour for him to arrive, and he did so by flying straight through the open window and setting down in the middle of my dining table.

"Hello, Hogwig," I said, trying to suppress a sigh and not quite succeeding.

The giant, dark-gray feathered creature cocked his head at me at a ninety-degree angle. I slid a small plate with some pieces of dried meat in his direction, and he immediately started digging in, plucking a strip with his beak then cocking his head back and swallowing like he was chugging from a keg. Once he was done I passed him a shallow bowl of water, and waited for him to finish drinking. When he was done, he looked back up at me.

I held out the furled piece of vellum I'd tied with a bit of string. "I have a message I'd like delivered to Helga," I said. There wasn't much point in going through pleasantries with messenger owls, besides the feeding; I knew they could somehow understand instructions, but I wasn't sure they actually understood the words. Regardless of how Hogwig interpreted my request, he held out a foot, and I put the vellum between his talons. His grip tightened, he grabbed a little more water, and then flew off.

Now, for the first time in… ever, actually, I found myself in almost the perfect situation for a wizard: I had a rough idea of what troubles to expect, and days to prepare for them. The only thing I was missing was lab equipment.

That said, soulfire and Lash's memories did a marvelous job of compensating for inefficiencies.

I left my house for four reasons over the next few days: to look after Shadowfax, to deal with the call of nature, to arrange the second half of the bargain with Larissa, and to collect payment from Eadric. Said payment came in the form of the maybe-butler, accompanied by a few footmen, who held a small pouch of jingling coins. The sum of twenty pence almost made me boggle. As far as I was aware, that was almost the equivalent of the yearly tax burden _of the entire hundred_. Dorham and its hides accounted for just a fraction of that, not even a plurality. This must have accounted for a large chunk of savings. There was frankly no way Eadric would ever be that generous on his own.

Clearly, Hilda was responsible for this. I'd have to figure out a way to pay her back later. Maybe I could arrange some brownie service.

Late on the fourth day after Tim's departure, some hours after noon, another group of footmen once again came to my door, with a message from Eadric requesting my presence.

I figured Tim was somehow involved, so I grabbed my things and went with them.

* * *

Author's Note: Harry Dresden: still dealing drugs to tiny faeries, circa 1069.


	6. Chapter 1-VI

**July 1069**

"It's a summons to court," Eadric growled, shooting another glare in the direction of the messenger. The guy was clad in soft green clothes made for traveling and riding, and he looked to be barely past his teens. He also stayed near the door to the manor and kept looking around at all the unfriendly Anglo-Saxons like they were about to bite him.

Good instincts on that one, really.

"Okay…" I said, waiting for Eadric to get it all out of his system first.

"From Earl Robert. Robert! He and all the other Norman lords are supposed to be back in Normandy not bothering us, and now I get a damned summons from him."

"Uhuh…"

"Robert's accounted to be a dullard and a brute," Eadric grumbled, and he shot me a look. He was silent for a few moments, but I could tell what was going through his head and running into his courtesy: 'this is your fault.' Then he shook his head and looked away. "He wants you to come as well."

"I'm not sure he has the legal right to do that," I commented, not really expecting that line to work.

"He has a lance of knights and the fyrd of the hundred. Can you stop them?" Eadric asked.

I shook my head. "Not in a way that ends well for anyone. Including me."

Not that I couldn't stop a small force of armed men. I had enough power to burn them all with a few _Fuego_'s. But that ran smack into the First Law, along with my own principles. The other options, wide-range earth magic or magnetism or wind magic, were more power and setup intensive.

Also, defeating the local armed forces would just kept more armed forces showing up, so it wasn't like it was a viable option to begin with.

"So, when are we leaving?" I asked.

"In an hour," Eadric growled. "I want to get this over with as quickly as possible. With any luck, we won't have to spend a night in Berkhamsted and I can be back by next sunset."

I tried not to wince at his tempting of fate. I really did.

As Eadric started to pull together an armed escort to accompany us to Berkhamsted, I took the opportunity to head into Dorham and acquire the collection of cookies I'd ordered from the local baker. That went into a small wooden tin, which in turn went into a saddlebag, I thanked the man for his work – I'd paid him in advance, under the assumption only an idiot would try and cheat a known wizard that physically towered over him – and made my way back to the manor. By the time I arrived, Eadric was saddled and ready, along with six footmen and the messenger.

I joined the small column of men, and we set off.

The journey to Berkhamsted was about half a day's walk by foot, following the road that came close to a section of forest. Which I really should have been more worried about than I was.

My first clue that something was up should have been meeting a lone, finely dressed traveler on the road by a firepit as night was falling. The second should have been his red cap. As it was, I was a little too focused on what might happen the next day that I missed the signs.

"Hail, good sirs!" he cried as we approached. I gave him a once over – fairly tall, youngish, straight black hair, high cheekbones, hint of muscle through his black doublet. He looked similar enough to Tim that I initially mistook him for a vampire, and it looked like Eadric did too judging by the way he scowled. At his glance, I shrugged. If the guy was a vampire and meant us harm, it didn't matter if we were polite or not. If he didn't mean us harm, then politeness didn't cost anything.

That was the theory, at least.

"And to you," Eadric said gruffly. "What brings you here?"

"I am traveling to Berkhamsted," the man said. "Could I interest you in a place by my fire? I have food cooking, and there is safety in numbers."

The food seemed to be wild rabbit, and it was around this point I started wondering what the poaching laws were around here.

Eadric deliberated and brooded for a bit, then nodded at his men to start settling down. We tied our horses to a nearby tree and let them graze, though they preferred going back in the direction of the road. That should've been the third clue.

"What is your name, traveler?" Eadric asked.

"I am called Oswine, coming down from the north," the man said amiably.

His choice of words seemed a little suspicious to me, but that didn't stop me from taking a seat around the fire and reaching my hands out to warm them. A cold wind suddenly blew through the camp, shrinking the fire, and everyone shivered.

Everyone except me, with my enchanted overcoat, and Oswine. I peered at him suspiciously, glancing up at his eyes for a moment to check for the beginnings of a soulgaze, and froze for a second as nothing happened.

Then everything clicked. The lone traveler offering pleasantries, the red cap, the weasel words, the cold, the lack of soul.

'Oswine' smiled, lips peeling back to reveal too large and too sharp canines.

I leapt to my feet and cursed, "Son of a-"

His lackeys burst out from the foliage a second later, dozens of them. Each was between three and four feet tall, with leathery grayish-brown skin, large hooked noses, floppy ears, and patchwork red caps. Each was holding a wooden or bone club.

'Oswine', or rather the Red Cap, threw out his hand and shot out a blast of snow and ice, and I snapped my left hand up and conjured a bright blue shield. The Red Cap's attack dispersed harmlessly, but blew out the fire in the process and plunged us into near darkness.

"To arms!" I cried as I bent to pick up my staff, and then the smaller redcaps were upon us.

They were a vicious, crudely coordinated pack of violent goblinoids, and they fell upon the disarmed men like wolves on a bull. Individually they weren't very strong, but between the confusion, the surprise, and the numbers, all of the men were borne down under a tide of flesh that set about hammering into them, focusing mainly on the armored ones while staying clear of the mail. Across the fire from me I could see the Red Cap slink back into the shadows as more of his underlings swarmed in my direction, and I knew I only had a few moments to act.

"_Ignus laqueus!_" I cried, mixing two of my regular spells, and the first half of the spell manifested by way of a miniature sun bursting into being above the smoldering remains of the firepit, eye-searingly bright. The second half of the spell came in the form of glittering cords of soulfire-infused flame that lashed out like tentacles, wrapping around the arms and legs of at least a dozen redcaps before pulling them, screaming, towards the miniature sun. Then I angled my staff downwards a little, towards the Red Cap, and opened a hole in my shield.

Then I unleashed the stored kinetic energy in it and sent the Red Cap flying into the woods.

My next act was to bellow out, "_Ventas servitas!_", throwing more of the redcaps off of the grappled men as I smacked one that tried to scurry around my shield. I spared a quick glance around, finding that Eadric was in the process of copying Gregor Clegane with a redcap's skull and that a few soldiers were grabbing their weapons, then focused on the small horde in front of me. The flailing sun was still pulling in redcaps to their doom, but there were a lot more all around us.

"_Forzare!_" I cried, throwing back another group of redcaps as I moved and pivoted, putting my back to the sun, and then lashed out with a quick, "_Fuego laqueus!_", that called up a whip of fire that cut through their back ranks. Shrieks of pure agony quickly joined the sound of conventional screams of pain and the yelling of men, and I assumed the faerie creatures were starting to have encounters with sword-shaped pieces of iron.

At a rough guess, maybe fifty redcaps had attacked us. Thirty were dead, and the number was quickly thinning. But the Red Cap was still out there, and he reminded me of that fact rather painfully when he threw another blast of snow and ice that slammed into my upper back. The sun in the way weakened it slightly, and the wards on my coat saved me from real injury, but there was still a transfer of force that sent me stumbling forward and let a few redcaps slip around the edges of my shield and start bashing me.

My overcoat, though large and long, did not cover my legs all the way, and their rough clubs destroyed what remained of my balance and sent me toppling to the ground. I managed to twist in midair and land on my back, and brought up a hand to blast them back. Then they clubbed me in that hand.

Something kicked me in the head and grabbed me by my hair, and I realized dully that between the kicking and hitting and screeching that they were trying to pull me away. That created enough internal panic that I managed an indiscriminate blast of force that blew them all away, but before I could get back up my swimming eyes found the figure of the Red Cap standing over me, hands glowing blue.

Then that figure screamed, burst into green-white flame, and something heavy hit me in the chest. I coughed and winced as my head span, and it took me a few moments and a lot of blinks before shapes and colors resolved into something coherent again.

I found Eadric standing over me, bloody sword in hand, bellowing something that made my ears ring and hurt from the volume, and then I looked at my chest and found the Red Cap's decapitated head, the stump of its neck scorched black.

"Ugh," I groaned, and clumsily pushed it off. By the time I got back to my feet I found that the fighting was over, the last few surviving redcaps running off into the dark woods they emerged from.

The tally wasn't great. Two men dead or close-as from head wounds, the rest battered. The messenger would be walking with a limp for weeks at best, and some of his ribs may have been broken. A jagged piece of bone had given Eadric a nasty scar over his face, and the way he moved and winced suggested a lot of bruises.

We piled up the redcap bodies along the edge of the woods, where I promptly burnt them down to ash. Then we settled back down, and I cast an extensive series of wards. After my last few displays, this one was downright tame.

The men were unnerved by the shimmering barrier of visible blue light, and warily eyed the dark woods, but over the course of half an hour they steadily calmed and set about looking to the dead and their wounds. I wasn't much help there, outside of handing out potions; the sum total of my skill with magical healing amounted to jack and shit.

An hour after the attack, Eadric came up to me, glanced at the exhausted and sleeping messenger, and bluntly asked, "Should we kill him?"

"He's a kid," I replied, feeling tired.

"He's a man, he's seen your power, he's going to talk, and we have an excuse," he insisted.

I gave him a look. "Are you actually trying to help me, or do you just want a reason to kill a Norman and assuage your conscience?"

He scowled, then looked away. He looked frustrated, and honestly, I kind of got it. A few years ago tens of thousands of foreign invaders had come to his homeland's shores, and after a lot of death and fighting distant overlords that weren't even in England half the time had displaced the former nobility and royalty he had been loyal to. It wasn't a surprise he didn't like Normans.

But this teenager hadn't done anything to deserve vitriol, and instead he'd been caught up in my problems.

Eadric sighed. "It's difficult."

"I get it," I said. "And I'm the last person that should be advocating for restraint in the face of vengeance, believe me. But you don't want to kill a kid for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It'll stay with you for the rest of your life and you'll hate yourself for it."

He looked at me consideringly. "You speak from experience, I take it?"

"Somewhat," I grunted. "I've seen kids stumble blindly into black magic out of good intentions. Some make it out, and some don't. The ones that don't…" I trailed off and sighed. "The typical punishment for warlocks is execution. But watching kids die… that's never easy. Or palatable. Hell, it should never be acceptable."

We sat in silence for a few moments before I grunted out, "Thank you, by the way."

Eadric nodded. "You're welcome. What were they? Fae?"

"Yeah. The little ones were redcaps. Vicious little goblins. The big one was a Sidhe, the Red Cap."

Eadric frowned. "That border tale, of the man that lurks in abandoned castles."

"That's the Red Cap," I confirmed. "I'm not sure exactly what the smaller ones are though. Probably bound servants and minions, goblins of some kind."

"They were trying to take you, from what I saw."

I nodded. "They were."

"Why?"

I sighed. "How much faerie folklore do you know?"

"Far less than you, I suspect," Eadric said.

"Yeah, okay. Do you know of the Seelie Unseelie division? Summer and Winter?"

Eadric nodded.

"Those were Unseelie, Winter faeries. Or at least the Red Cap was; the smaller ones may just be wyldfae press-ganged into his service. Difference is academic anyway, in this instance."

"And the Unseelie are after you?" he asked.

I sighed and nodded.

"Why?"

I took a few moments to consider how to answer him. Then I took a deep breath, let it out, and said, "I sort of... kind of... may have run out on their Queen."

* * *

Author's Note: People have already mentioned that Mab has recently risen to her current position, and that presumably she was Winter Lady for some time/centuries before that. I'd just like to add one addendum to that:

That position involves a lot of sexual urges and few options to act on them.


	7. Chapter 1-VII

**July 1069**

We came up on Berkhamsted in the morning. It was a rather well defended position, the small town and smaller castle protected by a motte-and-bailey design with added moat that essentially formed a small island. A number of bridges led to open gates along the walls, one in every rough cardinal direction, and we rode in from the north gate, though it took awhile to get there; there was a lot of land around Berkhamsted, and I could see that the forest we'd camped by last night extended even to here.

Interestingly, I also spotted a vineyard. Didn't know grapes could actually grow in this climate.

The town of Berkhamsted was a mix between wooden and stone buildings, favoring stone. There were fairly large streets and a lot of lofts or markethouses or whatever the term was, two-story buildings were the first was a shop and the second was residential. A few bars, a market square, and a stone chapel to the east of the town. I didn't see much of it however, as Berkhamsted Castle was fairly close to the north gate, and after some hurried discussion in Norman-French between wounded messenger and wary gate guards, we were led to said castle, which sat on the actual motte of the motte-and-bailey. It wasn't a huge castle, but the stone edifice was of a respectable size, with large towers, thick walls, and space enough for a few hundred people by the look of it.

Then there was another set of guards, Eadric very grudgingly released his footmen, our horses were stabled, and we followed the messenger and yet another group of guards through the main doors and into the castle proper.

My first time in a proper castle was a little underwhelming. The walls were decorated, sure, but the cold stone walls, smallish windows, and wooden doors didn't produce any sense of awe or rustic charm in me. Mostly, it just depressed me further, that this was about the best I could expect from my new home.

It wasn't the first time I considered just selling everything off and sailing to Constantinople, where I might actually enjoy living. But I'd promised to help Helga, so here I stayed.

Court was in session as we arrived, passing through another set of tall doors into a large open space, and I took a moment to look around as the air grew colder around me. Columns studding the sides of the room, a shallowly curved ceiling, tables along the walls, an upraised dais with a small minithrone, and banners hung from columns and scaffolds, some depicting scenes of battle, but most depicting some kind of strange, dog-like creature with feet that looked like a cross between a cat's and a bird's, jointed backwards, a tail that ended in something like a flower, and that breathed fire. I presumed that was the earl's personal device, but what creature that was supposed to represent, I had no clue.

The people inside were just as eclectic. The man on the minithrone was probably Robert, Count of Mortain and Earl of... parts of England. He had short black hair that didn't even touch his ears, and his facial features were a little pudgy. The rest of his frame was rather firmly muscled however, even if he didn't look especially tall; five-nine, five-ten at my guess, it was a little hard to tell while he was sitting. He wore a dark, almost dull blue doublet over a brown tunic, and turned away from a courtier to look at us as we entered.

Most of the other people inside stood along the columns, forming the 'edge' of the crowd. All of them were well-dressed, but by the way others stood closer or more prominently I moved on from the outliers quickly, mentally labeling them as bystanders. Besides the earl, I noticed four others of interest.

Tim was easiest to spot, standing near a group of doe-eyed ladies, a woman that looked a lot like him close by. A sister, by my guess, and if she wasn't a Raith then genetics had been very kind to her. She had a youthful, generous figure that seemed perfectly plump without spilling over into fat, her black hair done up in curls that gleamed in the morning light, and with pale skin accentuated by faint makeup. She wore a green gown that managed to be both highly conservative and proper and very, very showy, and her stance and look was that of a petite, polite, demure noblewoman with a collection of hangers-on and associates.

Maybe that was true, but my finely honed sense of paranoia meant I didn't buy her innocent look for a second.

There was another clustered group like hers on the other side of the hall, also gathered around a noblewoman. This one looked to be older, in her mid-twenties compared to early, and she had a more mature and… simpler look. The Raith was an ingenue that could probably bat her eyelashes and water her eyes at damn near anyone and get them to do whatever she wanted. The other woman was taller, around Tim's height, with straight blonde hair, green eyes, sharper features, a rather more slender figure, and a definitely more scandalous blue gown.

My first thought was wife and mistress, or rather mistress and wife, though something felt off about that.

But the person that caught my eye the longest was the one standing by the foot of the dais. He was below-average in height, five-six maybe, with plain, age-weathered features that made him look like a grandpa. Neck-length brown hair, tired brown eyes, physically he didn't seem to be anything exceptional. But he was also wearing the robes of a chaplain, and that made me very antsy.

"Sir Eadric," the man on the throne began. His voice was a little rough and his words slow and halting, as if he were unfamiliar with English. "I hear you had trouble on the road."

Eadric tried not to scowl too hard. "Aye."

"Bandits?" Robert asked, an audible pause in between the two syllables.

Eadric almost glanced my way, then sighed and shook his head. "No. We were attacked by creatures of the forest."

Robert frowned, and turned to look at the harried messenger we had come in with. "Did you now?"

The youth swallowed and looked around fearfully, staring at me for a few seconds, before nodding. Then, at Robert's prompting, he launched into a rapid-fire exchange of Norman-French that tried to describe the events of last night and the beings we had been attacked by.

I decided to spare his rambling, particularly before he could get into too much detail about my powers too early, and in regular French said, "Redcaps."

Maybe it wasn't the best idea to draw attention to myself, but I agreed with Eadric in one respect about the current situation: the faster it was resolved, the better.

The messenger cut off and the entire court turned to look at me, including Eadric. He looked almost insulted at my use of French. I shrugged.

"Redcaps," Robert said in his native tongue, speaking faster than before. "Harry Dresden? The… Jedi?"

I totally did not giggle even slightly there. You can't prove otherwise.

I nodded. "The very same."

The earl looked between me, and the messenger, and Eadric, before finally harrumphing and looking back at me. "Describe these 'redcaps' to me. And properly."

"Small goblinlike creatures, come up to about my waist. Leathery skin, large hooked noses, obvious red hat or cap or helm, hence the name, barely clad besides that, vicious, and dumb. They're cannibals; they attack travelers, eat the flesh, take the bones, and rub the blood into their caps to stain them. Individually they're weak and like all faeries they fear iron, so they're generally only a threat when they come from ambush. Like last night."

"Hmph." There was a brief pause. "You claim to be a wanderer, providing aid," he said, then nodded at the messenger. "And you have some power, or trickery."

My fingers curled around my staff. "I do," I said slowly.

"And you know our tongue," he said.

As I considered how to respond, I half-remembered some archaic piece of law about how if you could read a passage from the Bible you were pardoned of most crimes, or something like that. Some kind of association with the clergy and how nobles and royalty couldn't punish or touch them. Considering I was claiming to be part of an order dedicated to a saint, it couldn't hurt to try.

"I know many languages," I said in Latin.

Robert's chaplain blinked, though he and everyone else in the room frowned. After a moment, Robert grunted and turned to his chaplain questioningly.

"That was Latin," the chaplain supplied in a reedy, old man voice.

"Hmph," Robert said, sitting back in his chair-slash-minithrone. "And you claim you are not a monk."

"To be a monk I would have had to take ecclesiastical vows, which I have not," I said. "I'm simply well-learned, well-read, and follow the example of Saint Giles."

"And strong-armed," Tim's sister said, her voice soft but also kind of like a pop star's.

Robert's eyes fell to my sword, which was still at my hip, and I thought I saw a flash of greed there.

"As you say," I said, turning slightly to face the Raith. "I'm afraid I don't know your name. Tim there didn't mention you."

Tim's sister glanced in his direction briefly, then dipped a shallow curtsy. "Lucille." The dip and bop shifted her gown in interesting ways, and I caught Robert sneaking a look.

The mistress theory was looking more likely by the bob.

There was a disdainful sniff from the other woman, soft enough that I don't think anyone besides me and her cohort heard it.

"I am at a loss for what to do with you," Robert said. "These lands have been mine for some years now, and I have not heard of you until recently. It makes one wonder about your intentions, and what do with you."

The other woman took that moment to interject. Her voice was smooth, yet also loud and forceful, French but with a hint of an English, or rather Anglo-Saxon accent. "He is by his own account a wanderer and a wise man that has been living as a hermit. Such men do not often come before nobility; indeed, it is often the reverse, as can be seen with his own Saint Giles."

Lucille's polite smile grew the tiniest bit strained, particularly when the chaplain nodded along. Robert meanwhile looked… it's hard to describe. Annoyed, to some extent, a little respectful, surprisingly not lustful considering the rather nice cleavage on display and his prior look towards Lucille, and no love or disdain.

Guess the wife theory was wrong. Well... probably.

"He has come to you in good faith and protected your bondsmen," the chaplain added, his tone practically chiding. Robert grimaced and shifted in his chair, but nodded. My estimation of the chaplain went up a few notches.

I didn't miss the way Lucille nudged her brother with her foot, or the way he cleared his throat before stepping forth. "Mayhaps a test, then? If the woods are plagued by creatures such as these redcaps, perhaps there is truth to other tales? The woodsmen and swineherds have been complaining, and by his own account Harry is clever and experienced in such mystic matters."

I narrowed my eyes slightly at him as he spoke, briefly glancing at Lucille, and wondered what their game was. To get me killed? Maybe; I'd been considering just how the Red Cap had known to find me on that road. Maybe the vampires had somehow coordinated with him. I almost wanted to believe that, because the likeliest alternative was that Mab was somehow more directly involved, and then that raised the question of _why_. Why only the Red Cap and a small ambush force, which wouldn't have succeeded were I on my own and didn't need to hold back for the sake of others? Why attack at that time? To force me to reveal myself as a wizard to people that wouldn't keep the secret from the Normans? Why?

I never liked dealing with Mab or other High Sidhe; the moment I thought I started to grasp the shape of their plans was just a few moments before I realized I was just brushing the trunk of the elephant like a blind man and mistaking it for the whole.

And if the vampires weren't behind the attack, what was their purpose here? Were they legitimately trying to 'help' me, to present themselves as allies and ingratiate themselves to me? Would I see Lucille creep into my room at some point, trying to seduce me? What was the goal here?

That said, Robert was one of the great Norman lords. He was bound to be rich, and I was always in need of money. Moreover, the project was in need of a _lot_ of money. Maybe it wouldn't hurt too much to solve this problem for him, depending on what it was.

"What matters?" I asked.

"The people of Berkhamsted have been driven from the north woods the past few months by armed riders who they've claimed were man-like horses," Robert said. "Peasant's tales in my opinion, for my men have found nothing. But something is in the woods harassing them, and there has been no logging and little swineherding in that time."

"And would you like me to try and deal with that?" I asked.

"Hmm." Robert looked at the chaplain. "John, what would God do? Would He look kindly on the aid of this supposed wise man?"

"God looks kindly on all who do his works," John replied. "And if he is learned in magic and mysticism then that is not a crime. Only that which is used in defiance of Him is condemned. If he is willing to help, then allow him."

My first impression of Robert's local court dynamics were of two main factions and three main players. Lucille's and the other woman's, whatever her name is, with John standing aside with particular influence over Robert. Which looked favorable to me; I liked John already and if Robert was inclined to listen to the sensible chaplain then that would make it harder for Lucille to wield the earl against me.

"Then so be it," Robert said. "Harry Dresden, you are welcome in Berkhamsted. Find out what is happening in my woods."

I nodded, and avoided glancing at the Renouths. It was possible they were mostly benign and fishing for allies, and despite bad first impressions I wasn't entirely willing to write them off yet. I'd need to get a better sense of Lucille first; from what I could see, she seemed to be the brains of the operation.

That said, I had more important things to worry about at that moment, like how to avoid getting killed by what was probably an angry herd of centaurs. No pressure.

* * *

Author's Note: So, slight ahistoricity here. I'm not sure Robert had a chaplain before Vital; if he did, it wasn't a historically noteworthy one. I initially planned Robert's court around Vital being present. Only one problem: Vital's around 9 at 1069, if not younger. Which I missed on the first read through of his background. So instead, you have Chaplain John. Similar relation with Robert, different person. The name is, again, a reference to another medieval fantasy work of fiction.

Anyway, according to Wikipedia, Count/Earl Robert was an ass, but was apparently pious and self-conscious enough that he sought out a wise monk as his chaplain and then was entirely willing to get the shit verbally beaten out of him whenever he was being an idiot. That didn't stop him from being an ass and an idiot, but the glimpses of Robert and Vital's historical relationship are interesting.

Though apparently the lessons didn't properly sink in because by all accounts he raised a little shit of a son.


	8. Chapter 1-VIII

**July 1069**

I managed to extricate myself along with Eadric shortly afterwards, and the same set of guards that had brought us in took us towards a set of guest rooms I was conflicted about staying on. On the one hand, nice place. On the other hand, politics.

Difficult choice, really.

The moment we were alone Eadric turned in my direction and hissed, "What was that?"

"Robert's having some issues with local woodland creatures, so I agreed to help. There was also some politicking and hobnobbing I doubt you're interested in."

Eadric gave me a suspicious look, but stopped trying and failing to loom over me. "You never told me you spoke French."

"We've barely talked; I haven't told you a lot of things. And like I told John – the old man in chaplain's robes – I know a lot of languages."

"Such as?"

I scratched my chin in thought, feeling the stubble growing there. "English, for one. French. Latin. I've got a good grasp of Spanish. A smattering of Russian and Polish." There were fairly substantial Hispanic and Eastern European communities in Chicago, and considering the way I made my living it paid to have a passable grasp of their languages. I'd chosen Russian for the most general Slavic language, then Polish because that language in particular was bizarre and the Polish community was sizable. "Oh, and Ancient Sumerian, with a smattering of Etruscan."

Eadric frowned. "What?"

I waved my hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. Long before your time."

Eadric's frown didn't diminish, but he seemed to give up on that line of discussion. "And what happens now?"

"For you?" I shrugged. "I have no clue. Robert didn't mention you at all once we switched to French. Maybe he'll want to talk to you later. Maybe you'll be ignored. All I know is what I'm doing."

"And that is?"

"Going out and talking to people."

I left Eadric by the guest room and went to find someone that could lead me back out of the castle and into town. If I were aiming to interrogate someone then Eadric could've made a good bad cop in a good cop, bad cop routine, but since I was aiming to just talk with people and not scare them out of their wits, bringing a dour Anglo-Saxon whose eyes seemed to flip-flop between 'glare' and 'sullen stare' wasn't a good idea.

I didn't go back to the court to see what they knew. It was obvious to me that they all had their own agendas, only had a slight clue what was going on, and may not have even cared that much. I'd learn just talking to the people.

But first, I had an agreement to uphold.

I stopped by the castle stables to see Shadowfax, made sure he was enjoying himself, and then grabbed my tin of cookies. Then I made my way into town, looked for an out-of-the-way place I could sequester myself for a few minutes, then went down that slight alley and threw up the best veil I could manage.

More than a few people had been eyeing me with interest as I'd searched, but once I quite literally disappeared down an alley-slash-side-street, they didn't spend long looking for me, which suited me just fine.

"Larissa," I whispered, injecting a bit of power into the calling. I repeated her name three more times before a small light flew from the other end of the alleyway in my direction, stopping right in front of me.

"Sweets?" she practically demanded.

I showed her the tin and even popped open the lid a bit, then closed it when she went for them. "On completion," I reminded her. "You haven't told me what you've found out."

The light buzzed for a bit, and it felt like she was crossing her arms and huffing, but I couldn't make out any detail.

I opened the tin again, took out a cookie, and waved it around with my gloved hand. "So?"

"He was boring," Larissa said. "He talked with big people, fought, talked, fought-"

"Fought? Seriously, or as training?" I asked.

"Training," she said.

"Did he ever use his Hunger?"

"His what?"

"Go vampiric," I clarified. "Move faster, stronger, healed. That kind of thing."

"Oh. No, I don't think so," she replied.

I nodded. Probably not relevant, then. "Who did he talk to? Describe them to me as best you can."

I got a long list of people that basically included the other knight, Andre, a bunch of people I'd seen at court, Robert, Lucille, people that were presumably maids and stablehands and servants.

"Alright," I said once she'd finished enumerating everyone on her list. "What did he talk about with his sister, Lucille?"

"Big people stuff. Court stuff. You."

That last one was a no-brainer, but I still needed the details. "What about me did they talk about?"

Larissa then detailed her secondhand account of the discussion between brother and sister, which boiled down to Tim telling Lucille about his meeting with me, Lucille grilling him about some details, the two having a discussion over whether it would be a good idea to lean on Robert to call me in, whether Lucille could or wanted to seduce me – I was very weirded out by the fact that Tim apparently called me handsome, if the retelling could be believed – and then a warning to be cautious and to not antagonize Eadric because it wasn't worth it.

His conversation with Robert was shorter, more of a mission report that put a vaguely positive spin on Eadric and made me out to be of great interest. Which was bad for me, but good for Eadric; it looked like he wouldn't be having problems with Robert while the Renouths still thought they could influence me.

But that also meant that if I blew them off, hard, then they could probably easily cause trouble for Eadric. Which wasn't great either.

"What about a fairly tall woman, foot shorter than me, with straight blonde hair and green eyes?"

Larissa bobbed up and down a bit. "They didn't speak to each other."

"But did you learn anything?"

"You didn't ask."

I sighed. Looked like I wasn't quite there yet on the Little Folk appreciation scale to get them to go out of their way to help me.

"Alright," I said, holding the cookie out to her and watching in bemusement as she devoured it at an impressive pace. "But I think you need the rest as payment to the others, right?"

She paused when she was halfway through the cookie, and I got the distinct impression she was torn between obligation to her fellows and a gluttonous desire for more cookies.

After a few seconds, she said, "Put the cookies down." At least, I think that's what she said; her words were muffled and garbled by a mouthful of cookie. I chuckled, then opened the tin and set it down on the ground. After about half a minute, more faerie lights swarmed down the alleyway and set upon the tin, and they started going through the cookies at a rapacious pace.

I turned around to head back out, it wasn't like the tin particularly mattered to me, and stopped when I saw a familiar figure at the mouth of the alleyway, looking vaguely in my direction. I slowly walked up to her, then extended my veil to cover Helga. She blinked slightly as my probably hazy form solidified in front of me, then turned to look at me properly. I beckoned for her to come a little down the alley with me, and took a minute to look her over. She was wearing a brown kirtle over a white smock, with sleeves voluminous enough to easily conceal a wand.

"Do you only have the one outfit?" she asked out of curiosity.

"This is a classic look," I said, tugging at my overcoat. "And it's enchanted for my protection."

"It doesn't really let you fit in among the people," she pointed out.

"I think my gigantic height rules out that possibility more than my coat and staff," I replied. "How did you know to find me here?"

"I didn't, not right away. I stopped by your house, found no one was there. Then I asked around your village, got pointed in the direction of Berkhamsted."

I frowned. "How did you beat me here though? Did you just not sleep?"

"I flew," she said. "Then slept here for the night, and watched the north gate come morning."

"You flew? Like, on a broom?" I asked.

Helga laughed. "No, though there's an idea." She stepped back a little, then shrank and morphed and twisted, collapsing into a more compact shape as eyes grew, hands disappeared, shoed feet turned into talons, and feathers sprouted from everywhere. A few seconds later, there was a barn owl standing on the ground, looking up at me. A rather small barn owl. Then the transformation went in reverse, and Helga was there again.

"I can also do a hog. Want to see?" she asked, almost excited.

I sighed and rubbed my temple. "What is it with you and hogs?" I asked.

She pouted. "They're cute."

"I… whatever," I said with a sigh, deciding that trying to understand Helga was a waste of time and sanity. "Still, impressive. Okay, so you got here ahead of me. Did you, uh… sleep as an owl?"

"Oh, no. I tried that once, fell over and hit the ground. Much easier and safer to sleep as a person," she said. "I just got a room for the night at an inn."

I nodded.

"So, you ran into a vampire. Or he ran into you. And now you're in Berkhamsted," Helga said, getting us back on track.

"Yeah. The earl called me to court, tried to threaten me a bit, and now I've agreed to solve a problem for him."

Helga looked a little uneasy at that. "I don't know, is that really a great idea? If the earl's who I'm thinking of, then he's pretty important. Wizards generally stay out of politics. And if he's involved with vampires…"

"I know. But I don't have much of a choice, and they might have an actual supernatural problem besides the vampires," I said. "Besides, think about it. If we want to make a magical school that covers Britannia and we can't get the Hidden Halls, then we're going to have to build _somewhere_. Maybe we can get away with building an underground facility rather than something like a castle, or maybe not. And that might require permission, or at least tolerance, especially since we'll need to find a place to source food from and that means settling close to a village or town. Beyond that, if we're hoping to get everyone with magical potential, what happens when that someone is a noble or, hell, royalty? Do we just kidnap them? Leave them alone?" I sighed. "As much as I don't like it, and I really don't like it, having good relations with the people in charge is probably a good idea for the project."

Helga chewed at her lip. "Rowena probably wouldn't care, but Salazar… Salazar will be hard to convince."

"Why?" I asked.

"I'd… rather not share his secrets," she said. "But to put it simply, he really doesn't like… 'mundanes', as he puts it."

I frowned, then sighed. "Great. Fine. Look, we'll leave that for later. Right now, we've got two problems to solve, the vampires and whatever's going on in the woods."

"What's going on in the woods?" Helga asked.

"People have been driven out of the woods north of town for the past few months," I said. "By 'armed riders.' Could just be that, but my money's on centaurs, possibly under glamour. I think regular raiders would have been found and dealt with by now."

Helga nodded. "Maybe, but this town's been here for a while. So have the Normans. What's changed recently to get centaurs mad at them? Bandits are a more likely explanation for a sudden problem."

"Yeah," I said, mulling it over. "Alright, here's what we'll do. I've got experience running investigations and talking to people, so I'll talk to the townspeople and the woodsmen and whatnot, make a show of being seen. Can you check out the woods and see what you can find out on that angle? Then we'll meet up out of town by the woods tomorrow, and figure out our next goal from there."

Helga nodded. "Sure. But what about the vampire?"

I sighed. "Well, way I figure it, they're trying to recruit me. And I've had… acceptable dealings with the White Court before. So I'll stay the night, see what their offer is, and go from there."

Helga started to nod, then frowned. "Vampires, they. Is there more than one in town?"

"White Knight Tim has a sister," I said.

Helga arched an eyebrow, then looked me over. I scowled. "Look, hotter and greater vampires than her have tried to seduce me. I've even kissed one and used the lust to fuel a shield spell and that didn't go anywhere. She's not going to succeed where they failed."

Helga cocked her head at me, then blinked. Kind of like an owl, actually. "I'd very much like to hear about your life someday, Harry. It sounds very interesting."

"Maybe tomorrow," I said.

Helga nodded. "Tomorrow."

* * *

Author's Note: Animagi are rolled into general shapeshifting here, so it's not just one form and done.


	9. Chapter 1-IX

**July 1069**

I left Helga to her owling, dropped my veil, and walked out of the alley. After some thought and stares from streetgoers, I decided that my best course of action was to look around the small town and get a feel for it, its buildings and services, and its people.

From a rough survey, the town had anywhere between three to six hundred people living in or nearby the walls. It wasn't well districted, and had a surprising number of smaller plazas and marketplaces. The majority of the townspeople were actually traders or merchants of some kind, many of them catering to nobles or other merchants or basically anyone else of class. I learned that Berkhamsted was a growing center for trade, a prospective retreat for nobles and royalty, and that people went through the town every day.

That made fertile ground for bandits, but then I would have expected more attacks along the road, merchant caravans and travelers accosted. There weren't that many stories. Maybe there were bandits that were being especially careful, but haphazard assortments of criminals generally weren't very devious or restrained, and more organized groups required either iron-willed leaders or prior organization, like what may came from a rogue group of men from a fyrd. And even if that was the case, it still didn't explain why they were only driving people out of the forest.

The part that really pissed me off and set my blood to boiling, though, were the slaves. There were only a few dozen of them, but even that was a few dozen too many. As if the life of serfs and peasants wasn't bad enough, people had to make it worse by taking and holding slaves.

I didn't yet know how, but I decided then and there that I had to fix that travesty somehow. Ideally, in a way that didn't involve blackening my soul burning all the slavers to ash.

Not for the first time, I questioned the 'conventional wisdom' of the White Council staying out of temporal affairs.

Then I left town and walked among the fields to talk to the swineherds. There were quite a lot of them, with herds totaling about six hundred pigs in all. The number had been closer to a thousand before the attacks started, but the constriction of available woodland territory for roaming had forced a trimming of the population. It wasn't truly crippling, most of the population consisted of young hogs that would rarely live to see seven months of age before being butchered for their meat, but the effects were still being felt.

All of the swineherds blamed different, but somewhat related causes. The ones that kept herds along the edges of the woodlands blamed wolves and bandits and the foolishness of competitors. The ones with herds that had been reduced blamed an array of causes from wolves, bandits, wild and angry horses, angry horsemen, malignant fae creatures, a curse from God as a pox on the earl's presence – I had to give that man his due for speaking so openly, even if he shut up immediately once the bitterness ran its course and he realized what he'd said – the list went on. The only thing they could agree on was that it started three or four months ago and none of them could tell me if something in particular had changed to cause the shift.

The sun was starting its slow descent at this point, though it would be long hours yet before it actually set. I was hungry, thirsty, sweating a little, and I figured people would be congregating among the multitude of bars and inns that littered the streets of Berkhamsted. I asked around a bit, found out where woodsmen tended to congregate – a small place along the north wall called the Green Ax – and headed there.

The beer… wasn't _great_, but it was palatable. Which wasn't the greatest compliment, but the Green Ax apparently specifically catered to the lower underclasses with cheaper food and drink sold in greater quantities. Antique and primitive fast food, in other words.

There's an idea. Maybe I should jumpstart the restaurant franchise movement and remake Burger King myself. I could even have a little crown and scepter of pyrite.

Tempting, but a possibility for later.

The woodsmen were at least more consistent in their stories. They blamed wolves, but not to any great extent, citing them mostly as a minor environmental hazard. I suspect the swineherds didn't agree, but I was inclined to. Most of them agreed on the general details of their attackers, riders or literal horsemen driving them off with arrows, first as warning shots then as mortal ones if warnings weren't heeded.

At least, that was the assumption; the woodsmen knew some of their number had disappeared, and they didn't think it was because of the wolves.

Some older, more ornery, and scoffed-at woodsmen claimed it was the fault of stupid youngsters cutting down trees that were held sacred by the spirits of the forest against an agreement that had been old in their grandmother's grandmother's day and the usual tale that was typically dismissed by anyone that wasn't a traditional local. I was less dismissive. Fae held to ancient agreements with all the fervor that increasing generations of men steadily forgot, and some ignorant person accidentally and unknowingly breaking it centuries down the line was a frequent cause of troubles.

Which wasn't to say that it was _definitely_ centaurs or some other fae or even Sidhe riders taking retribution, or 'retribution', against the people of Berkhamsted, but I was fairly confident it was something like that. Which made things difficult, because faeries really didn't like oathbreakers, often generalized groups of humans, and wouldn't be as interested in a second agreement unless proper recompense was delivered in their eyes.

Oh, and I could still be shot full of arrows if I wandered into the forest and started trying to talk them down. Which I still didn't know how to address short of maintaining a shield and trying to be very diplomatic – which for me, would probably result in me intimidating them into sullen silence.

Well, at least Helga was here. She was more diplomatic; maybe I could pull off a good cop bad cop routine with her as the good cop.

Then I was faced with a choice. I could stay out in the town, take a room at an inn, and avoid the castle, the vampires, and courtly politics altogether. Except, except. Except I'd just told Helga earlier that day that cultivating connections with the nobility was a good idea in the long term.

Me making suggestions that ended up causing more problems for me was a real, tired classic.

* * *

Somehow, my large overcoat, white staff, and scruffy face looked even more out of place among Robert's court than it had in the streets of Chicago. There, I had just been dismissed as 'that weird guy' among a thousand other weird guys. Here, I was the hyper-tall pseudo-monk with a strong sword and a supposedly stronger sword-arm.

Which apparently meant I was catnip to the court, even after stories of my magical prowess had gotten out. From one teenager's muddled recollections had sprung a collection of vague stories that a bewildered Eadric had been pulled into to answer and clarify, which he basically had refused to do. As a result, everyone else was just left with assorted, not entirely believable fodder. I wasn't sure whether Tim was jealous or secretly laughing his ass off at my suffering. I didn't even know which I wanted it to be.

I wasn't really courted, or drawn into social conversations, as there was a definite undercurrent of wariness in the court with people being unsure of how much was true or where I fit in. But just about everyone did come to me for one reason or another, to ask for stories, take my measure, ask for my help – there were a lot of potion-related questions I had to beg off of – and whatnot. It made me realize that I really needed a new business card to flash. Then I realized that literacy was no guarantee among the nobility, which meant a business card would need to be a lot more symbolic.

That said, there were a few… let's call them highlights of the night. The first was Robert trying to corner me, John not far behind him.

"Well?" he asked, trying to stare into my eyes. I avoided his gaze, which just seemed to annoy him.

"I'm only a day into my investigation," I said. "I've spoken to the people of Berkhamsted, collected stories and tales, and have a prominent theory I aim to confirm tomorrow."

"Which is?" John cut in before Robert could say something more forceful.

"My suspicion is that there is a group of faeries, most likely centaurs, keeping people out of the forest. My best guess as to why is that some enterprising fellows trespassed on sacred or forbidden ground or cut down trees in the wrong part of the forest, and broke some ancient agreement."

Robert frowned, partly in disbelief and partly in contempt. "Agreements I neither knew, nor made, nor agreed to."

"With all due respect, that's not really how these things work," I said. "If the hypothetical agreement was with a particular family or group of people, then sure. But if it was with something more nebulous like 'the people of the land' or 'the lord of the land', then it would be your business."

Robert's frown deepened into a scowl, and once again John came to my rescue with a faint hint of a long-suffering expression. I was starting to get the dynamic here, and I have to say, I felt for the chaplain.

"The fae are creatures of their word as much as men are of flesh and blood," he said. "Their agreements and the letter thereof gives them structure much like a skeleton."

I gave John a surprised look, and he smiled faintly. "I have an interest in the more pagan practices and beliefs, to the disapproval of others among the clergy. Religious beliefs are often born of practical ones elevated through ritual and godliness, after all. Somewhere, in the roots, there is a practical reason for all practices. And I don't take the position that just because they were made outside of God's light that they are intrinsically and completely wrong."

Okay, maybe my luck wasn't always atrocious.

"Then what do you recommend, John?" Robert asked.

John looked at me.

"That depends on the terms of the agreement and if I can learn them to begin with," I said. "I hope to try and find the cause of the problems tomorrow and get a firsthand perspective. With luck, they'll be amenable to some recompense and a new agreement. If they're more difficult, refuse to bargain, attack me, then you might have to look into driving them off."

Robert raised an eyebrow. "I am somewhat surprised to hear you say so."

"Did you think me a druid?" I snorted and shook my head. "No, I've had my fair share of confrontations with nature and killed a good few fae. I'm no real friend to them. I just understand that they're a different kind of people with different laws and different rules, and sometimes they can be dealt with and that sometimes dealing with them is the easiest and simplest solution."

"But you wouldn't help drive them off," Robert said. Seemed like he wasn't dull enough to miss my phrasing.

I chuckled. "As I'm sure you've heard, I prefer fire. If you want me to burn down half your forest in the process of driving the fae out, you're free to ask."

"Hmph." Robert tried peering into my eyes again, and I avoided him again. "Are you lying to me? Deceiving me?"

I shook my head. "Eyes are the windows to the soul, Earl Robert. That's more true for me than most. Believe me, neither of us would particularly appreciate such an insight."

Robert grumbled, looked me over, then nodded and walked away, leaving John behind for the moment.

"He's… quick to jump to conclusions, isn't he?" I asked the chaplain. He very pointedly did not sigh or groan, though I could tell he wanted to.

"The count is a pious man, but a troubled one," he said. "Do not take first impressions too harshly. He is diligent, and loyal."

"And problematic," I suggested.

John gave the slightest shrug.

"You're not afraid to speak ill of him?" I asked.

"Robert came to me, seeking my wisdom. If he can't stomach it, he's free to release me from his service," he said.

"And what about me? My... magic?"

"I judge men in accordance with their virtues and flaws, Harry. Nothing else. Have you used it for your own self-aggrandizement?"

"I typically demand payment for my services," I replied. "Does that count?"

John chuckled. "No. While a world of perfect charity would be idyllic, it is also unrealistic. Though I suppose it depends on the manner of payment. Have you ever taken any firstborn children?"

I almost said something embarrassing right then, but my brain-to-mouth filter had improved _slightly_ over the decades. Instead, I took a moment to consider and then gave a more measured response.

"As an apprentice, once, to keep her safe and teach her," I said. "But not in the manner you're speaking of. Demanding children is more of a faerie thing. I generally prefer to be paid in currency, rather than things that consume currency. Like children."

"Children are a gift."

"Sure. Greedy, money-devouring gifts."

John chuckled again. "Perhaps, perhaps." He dipped his head to me. "Good night, Harry, and good luck."

The other two meetings of the night, of course, involved women.

* * *

Author's Note: Another way that response about firstborn children could have gone:

"No, but one offered herself to me."


	10. Chapter 1-X

**July 1069**

The first happened when the woman in the blue gown came around a pillar and almost walked into me. Or, maybe almost isn't the right word. She didn't walk into me, but she did start, stumble, and almost fall onto me when she saw me. I was a little suspicious of that, but she didn't immediately try and follow that up by pressing her chest into me or making doe eyes, so I figured it was a legitimate accident rather than a lead-in to a hamfisted seduction attempt.

Then again, it's not like I've been on the receiving end of many hamfisted seduction attempts. Usually the people trying to sexually manipulate me are less juvenile about it, if not really less blunt. Usually.

"Are you alright?" I asked, concerned.

"Yes, thank you," she said, straightening her posture and pushing herself off of me. As she did so, her hand faintly grazed mine, and I felt a small spark and tingle. From the way she paused, hand hovering an inch away from mine, she had too.

Seeing as how I didn't hear anything like a snap, crackle, or pop, I doubted it was just static electricity.

She didn't seem to either, by the way she tapped a finger against my hand a few times, every contact feeling like the closing of an electric circuit. It didn't feel particularly strong, not on the level of a wizard; more like a minor talent, a sorcerer at best.

"Should you really be doing that in front of everyone?" I asked, looking down at her face.

She smirked and looked up at me, though pointedly not at my eyes. Curioser and curioser. "Petty gossip doesn't concern me." She withdrew her hand and glanced around at the rest of the court. "But I suppose there are too many prying eyes for such sensitive things."

I hummed noncommittally, trying to keep my eyes from drifting downwards to her nice tracts of land. It seemed that my libido had realized I was in a new dangerous situation and had started waking up and making itself known. I choose not to wonder what that says about me.

"True enough," I said, deciding to sidestep the struggle against temptation by looking around instead. "Perhaps we could speak later, in a calmer setting?"

"I'd like that," she said with a small smile.

Just for the record, I was only interested in having a chat with the local practitioner. There was no other reason, or reasons, whatsoever.

As she started to move away, I cleared my throat. When she paused, I said, "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don't know yours."

"Hmph," she said, still smiling. "You have the honor of addressing the Lady Ae ae Elfleda Aldrich."

Look, those ae symbols are hard to write.

I arched an eyebrow. "Interesting mix of names. I think."

"I come from an interesting background. Good night, sir."

"I'm not a knight," I muttered as she walked away. In a way that I couldn't avoid looking at her backside.

Look, it was a very nice… you know what, never mind. I'm not convincing anyone here, including myself. She had a great ass.

The second meeting was after the dinner, soirée, feast, congregation, whatever was over and everyone was heading to bed in ones or twos. I was one of the former, and I made my way briskly through the castle halls to where the guest room provided to me was, determined to sleep in a nice, higher quality bed for at least one night.

Of course, when I opened the door to my room, those plans were derailed.

"Really?" I said with a sigh, electing for English over French. "Really. I don't… does this ever work?"

Lucille looked in my direction and frowned thoughtfully. "Does what work?" she asked, also in English.

"This," I said, waving at her. "Showing up in someone's bedroom, sitting on their bed. Clothed, at that."

She cocked her head to the side. "What are you implying?"

I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose. "Right. It's way too late and I'm way too tired to deal with White Court subtlety. I don't buy this naïve ingenue approach, so you have fifty words or less to convince me to not turn around and leave right this second."

"That's incredibly gruff," she said with a blink.

"Forty-seven," I replied.

She blinked again.

"And I'm considering cutting it to forty-six because of that contraction," I added.

I suppose it wasn't completely impossible for her to be unaware of her heritage; the usual Raith style was to raise their children in complete ignorance of their heritage and then only introduce them to it after their first violent, lethal feeding. I suppose it wasn't completely impossible that, in this day and age, despite all the instincts and desires pressed upon her by a brimming Hunger, she was still a virgin.

But I really, really doubted that.

She was silent for a few moments, looking over me. There was a look of confusion on her face, but I couldn't be sure it wasn't feigned. And considering my last sexual encounter had been completely unexpected and definitely not loving, I wasn't willing to take any risks with succubi or potential succubi.

"I can endorse you to Robert," she finally said, speaking slowly and clearly.

"One, four… forty-one," I said.

She sighed in frustration. "Must you be so irritating?"

"You chose a really bad way and time to make a first impression. Thirty-six."

"Fine," she said, irritation leaking into her voice. "Count Robert is a rich if dull lord who relies heavily on his advisers. You could be one. If you wish to go back to your hut then go, but I offer an opportunity. Zero."

I went over her statement and counted her words, then nodded. "Interesting offer. If you're actually genuine, then please leave my room and don't come back."

She narrowed her eyes at me, then after a few moments stiffly got up and walked out, pointedly ignoring me as she did so. Once the door closed, I ran a hand through my hair and sighed.

"Vampires, man," I muttered. Then I set about putting up wards.

* * *

"You are not great at first impressions, are you?"

I gave Tim an unamused look. We were just outside the castle walls, it was a little past breakfast, and I was heading to the woods to meet up with Helga when the white knight intercepted me.

"Fuck off," I said.

"My point exactly."

"Look," I said, planting my staff on the cobbled road and turning around. "It would take more appendages than you or I have combined to number off all of the seduction attempts I've experienced in my life. And I've gone through the whole range of them, from clever and believable to unbelievably desperate and blunt. It doesn't amuse or interest me anymore. You want my actual approval and help? Stop playing coy; that just makes me lump you in with the rest of the White Court and I really don't have a good opinion of them in general. And if you can't do that, then fuck off."

Harry Dresden, certified master of diplomacy, right here.

"And to engender that goodwill, you start by insulting us."

"I didn't come to you, Tim, you came to me," I said, before turning around and walking away.

I heard him sigh and move to follow me. "Would you accept my aid as a token of friendship?"

"Not when I'm heading into the woods to deal with probably ornery fae," I replied. "I don't trust you to have my best interests in mind."

"It's difficult to build trust without cooperation."

I sighed, turned around, and planted my staff again. "Trust is _earned_," I emphasized. "And both you and your sister have, so far, done marvelous jobs of appearing distinctly _un_trustworthy."

"Do you so easily ignore the open hand my sister offered you, presenting you with an opportunity to earn the count's approval?" Tim asked, eyebrow raised.

I pulled my staff in. "Point, I suppose. But I could just as easily interpret that as a roundabout way to try and get me killed, or to use me as a catspaw to solve some personal problems. You want to actually start earning my trust? If I come back with an opening bid from whatever's in the forest, and I'm pretty confident I will, then you recommend Robert consider it, genuinely, and help convince him to come to a peaceful solution. That cooperation enough for you?"

Tim thinned his lips into a line and hummed thoughtfully. "I will relay your message to my sister and impress upon her your desire. It may be difficult; she's not feeling very fond of you at the moment."

"Then maybe she shouldn't have tried to seduce me and then act ignorant about it," I said. "I prefer intelligent women. Good day." I turned around and walked off again, and this time Tim didn't follow.

I headed out the north gate, one pocket loaded with small ball bearings made out of cheap pig iron, and headed off to the edge of the woods. Then I started walking around the edge, looking out for an owl or a short woman in a brown kirtle.

It took about half an hour before I spotted Helga coming towards me from the direction of Berkhamsted. I stopped pacing and stood there, waiting for her to walk up.

"You're here early," she said once she was close enough.

"A wizard is never early; he arrives precisely when he means to."

Helga arched an eyebrow. "Does that imply I'm late?"

"I didn't say that."

She snorted. "So, what did you learn? What's your impression?"

"A group of faeries, probably centaurs, live somewhere in the woods," I replied. "Some youngster that didn't believe in ancient superstition did something to offend them, maybe logged in a sacred grove, and started this whole mess. Now the centaurs are angry, but not enough to go on a killing spree. You?"

"I'm not sure about the cause, but there are definitely centaurs in the woods," Helga confirmed. "I don't think they realized I wasn't just an owl when I was flying around."

"You didn't try talking to them?"

"I figured having a big, strapping wizard around to protect me was a good idea," she said.

It was my turn to snort. "Very well then, my lady. Lead on."

She giggled and stepped over a branch as she moved towards the forest. "I bet you say that to everyone."

"I really don't," I said. "Say, are you at all familiar with this region?"

"Not really. Why?"

"There's a practitioner in Robert's court, and her name didn't sound French or Norman, but more... whoever came before the Saxons. I was wondering if you'd heard about her."

Helga shook her head. "Probably not. What's her name?"

"Elfleda Aldrich. With those ae letter symbol things."

"I think you mispronounced that," she said. "And no, I haven't heard of her."

I didn't have anything to say in response to that, and we lapsed into silence for a few minutes as we trudged through the transitioning woodlands and started to walk among taller and more clustered trees, entering the forest proper. A little bit after that, Helga asked, "So?"

"So what?" I asked.

"It's tomorrow. What's your story?" she asked. "How'd you get here? I know Rowena's been in her tower for decades, and Salazar came with me from Constantinople after I made my initial argument, but all I've heard about you is a bunch of monster stories and that you just showed up out of nowhere one day."

I sighed and drummed my fingers against my staff, considering what to say and how to respond.

"It's a long and winding story."

"We have time," she said. She waved around at the trees. "And privacy."

I sighed. "How many Faerie Queens are there?"

"Uhm… two?" Helga asked, confused. "Summer and Winter?"

"There's technically six," I said. "Every Court has a kind of royal family. Princess, Queen, and Queen Mother, more properly called Lady, Queen, and Mother."

"Or Maiden, Mother, and Crone?" she asked.

"I guess. Though aren't triple goddesses one being expressed in three different ways? That's how I've heard it."

"It varies, I think," she replied.

"Well, either way, that's not how it works in the Faerie Courts. Collectively, the Summer and Winter Ladies, Queens, and Mothers are the six Faerie Queens."

"So who are the Ladies and Mothers?"

"I don't know, and you don't want to know, respectively," I said. "Trust me on that last one."

"If you say so. So how does that tie into your story?"

"I'm getting there. Each of the Queens is tied to a mantle of power that… describes their position, for lack of a better term. And when you have an… arrangement with a Faerie Queen, you don't really have it with the individual, you have it with the position."

I'd learned that much from Lily and Fix, more so the latter. It also explained the influence Mab had over me, even now. Especially now.

"And you have one such arrangement?"

"I'm getting there," I repeated. "I made some questionable decisions when I was younger, racked up debt with a powerful Sidhe. That debt got sold on… to the Winter Queen."

Helga paused and turned to look at me, eyes wide. "What."

"Yeah," I said with a sigh. "That was a nasty shock to me too. It's… not quite as bad as it sounds though."

"Really," Helga said, almost drawling. "Please, do tell."

"The arrangement we came to was that I would do three tasks for her. She'd make requests, and I would choose which ones to accept and which ones to pass up. There would be no coercion or reprisal, and she couldn't sell the debt on again. And once those three tasks were done, I would be free of all obligation to her."

Helga blinked. "You got the _Winter Queen_… to agree to that?"

"I wasn't the one doing the negotiating," I said.

She blinked again. "So _she _offered that to _you_."

"Yeah."

"Wow," she said, looking me over as if she'd never seen me before. "That's… impressive."

I didn't realize it at the moment, but I'm pretty sure she misinterpreted what I said to make me out as someone impressive enough to force a Faerie Queen to deal fairly. That… really isn't the truth, but I'm not sure how to break that to her.

"I did two tasks for her, and then… stuff happened. Personal stuff. I don't really want to talk about it. The relevant point is that I woke up on Avalon… I want to say two years ago, but I really don't know what the time dilation actually was."

"Did you meet King Arthur there?" Helga asked eagerly.

"No," I said. "I didn't explore that much of the island, and I only ever ran into faeries. But I'm getting ahead of things. The relevant bit was I woke up to Mab looming over me. Which terrified me."

"I can imagine," Helga said.

"I really don't think you can; you have to meet her to appreciate how terrifying she really is," I said. "And throughout the roughly three months I spent there, she… constantly tried to seduce me."

"Oh."

"I think at first it was just perfunctory, on a whim, but the more I denied her, well... it intensified. And since my lucky escape, which led me here to England, I've heard there's... somewhat of a bounty out on me," I continued.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"And you still owe her a task, right?" Helga asked.

"Oh yeah," I said.

There was a crunch and snap behind us, and we both froze. A moment later, a deep voice said, "Perhaps we should relieve you of that burden."

I sighed and pressed a hand to my temple. "Hell's bells," I groaned.

* * *

Author's Note: The very abridged tale of what happened.


	11. Chapter 1-XI

**July 1069**

We slowly turned around to find a half-dozen centaurs arranged in a semi-circle. They all looked male, and were uniformly enormous; the shortest I could see was seven feet. Beyond that they looked like stereotypical centaurs; barechested, long-haired men from the waist up, large and powerful horse from the waist down. Their horse bodies were various shades of brown, while their human parts were generally lighter in color. They looked muscled enough that I wouldn't be surprised if they could punch a troll and make it hurt, and all of them had huge longbows practically as tall as I was drawn and pointed right at us.

"Hello," Helga said, affecting a cheerful expression. "My name is Helga, and this is Harry. May I have your chosen name or moniker?"

"No. You may leave." The one with the deep voice was about seven-six, broad chested, with cheese-grater abs, dusky skin, and an almost black coat on his horse bits. He also had sharp, diagonally slitted green eyes and coal-black hair.

"We just want to talk," Helga went on.

"And we do not. Leave, now," the centaur said firmly.

"Listen, pal," I said. "I know the people nearby have angered you somehow. But you're not going to fix that by threatening two wizards with bows and arrows."

The lead centaur looked at me with disdain and gave a very horselike snort. "Angered? _Angered_? Is that what you think happened, wizard?"

"Since I doubt you just rode in one day and started shooting people out of the woods, yes," I said. "So what happened?"

"The ephemerality and fickleness of men."

"Really helpful there," I drawled, ignoring the look Helga shot me. "Could you be any more vague?"

The centaurs bristled, and all the bows swiveled to point at me. "Have more care with your words, human," the lead centaur growled.

"Not seeing that much reason to. I come as an emissary of the local count to learn of your grievances and arrange a peaceful resolution of tensions and here you are pointing bows at me."

"Whatever man rules in his castle has no authority over us," the centaur said.

"No, he doesn't," I agreed, and that seemed to throw him for a bit of a loop. "Doesn't change your ungraciousness."

The centaurs shifted and the tension grew, swelling and swelling until Helga put a hand on my gloved left and said, "Please, we just want to understand."

The lead centaur looked back at Helga. "Why? What business is it of yours?"

"We are wizards of the White Council; it's our duty to protect the common folk," she said.

Some of the centaurs snorted at that, and Helga visibly and angrily bristled in response. One of her sleeves shifted and I felt something poke against my glove, something thin and a little pointy. Probably her wand.

She went on. "I am not seeking to excuse anyone's actions. But surely not everyone deserves to suffer for the crimes of a few."

"The crimes you speak of are constant, unceasing encroachment," the centaur said. "Men come into the forest further and further under the delusion they are its masters, here and elsewhere. The traditions and sensibilities that once bound them are forgotten, and they act without care or knowledge."

"And can nothing be done?" Helga asked.

"They can leave."

"Berkhamsted's been here for awhile. Centuries, at least," I said.

"And the forest has been here since before man set foot on this isle," the centaur replied.

"Sure, but the generations of men shift a lot faster than those of fae. My point is that this is their home. They're not going to leave, and they're not going to ignore the woods that have supported their livelihoods for generations."

"And what does that matter to us?"

"Well, it matters because the local lord is a brute with broad connections, deep pockets, and large hosts to call upon," I said. "And he doesn't seem a very patient fellow. So you can cling to prejudice and superiority, and then enjoy a host of men garbed in iron flooding the woods a few months from now to drive you out. Hundreds, if not thousands. Can you drive off that many? Can you kill that many?"

"Not helping," Helga whispered under her breath.

"We're still talking aren't we?" I whispered back.

A moment later, the lead centaur said, "If we must, then we shall."

"It would be a grievous waste of life on all sides," Helga said.

"And what good would peace and tolerance accomplish? A few decades of ignorant practices the meaning and purpose of which will be forgotten over time, until more men break the agreements of their forefathers? What guarantee can you make that men will uphold their end of whatever bargain is struck? Will you enforce it upon them with magic and will?"

"And if we come to an agreement where the self-interest of the people reinforced their desire to follow it, even a decade or a century from now?" Helga asked.

"And how do you propose that?" the centaur asked, both literally and metaphorically looking down on her.

It took me a few moments to figure out a viable option, but when it came to me I started thinking it over, and the more I did that the more the idea appealed. "The forest could be designated a Kingswood."

The centaur turned to look at me. "And what good would that do?"

"It would designate the forest as a preserve," I said. "There would be no logging of trees beyond, perhaps, the young outskirts. There would be no hunting, outside of occasional visits by small parties of royals and their men that would come at most a few times a year, and then only for sport. There might be grazing and roaming by domesticated pigs and hogs, but I assume you don't have much issue with that, seeing as how you haven't shot any. And its status would mean that the lords of the land would stringently protect the forest and keep people out of it – and any that did wander in, would be in breach of the law. It's a solution that works for everyone."

Some of the centaurs scoffed at that, but the lead one seemed to give it actual consideration. "A pretty proposition, but you have not said how we would be affected."

"Barely," I said. "You'd be foresters and rangers, looking after the sanctity of the woods. So, what you do already. And if you're worried about being hunted down, are you not capable of glamours, looking just like a rider and horse? With minimal contact, notional subordinance, and willful ignorance on behalf of royalty, and functionally speaking nothing would change. Moreover, you'd be acknowledged with the right to punish and ward off trespassers."

"So you would have us pretend at being servants to men," the centaur said.

"Pretend at being pretend-servants," I replied. "It's the best case scenario for everyone. Or you can decline and choose a valiant, doomed stand. It's your choice."

The lead centaur lowered his bow a few fractions. "And can you actually deliver what you promise?"

"The local lord, Earl Robert, is the trusted half-brother of the new king," I said. "And Berkhamsted is being made into a royal retreat. And as I said, I am his emissary. If I can convince the earl, he can easily convince the king. And then pride and self-interest will keep things going."

The centaur backed up a bit, glancing over his shoulders at his fellows. Then he looked back at me. "Bring this 'Earl Robert' before us. If, and only if he offers as you have, will we consider this."

"We will," Helga promised.

"Then go." And, as one, the centaurs turned around and headed off into the forest, cantering and weaving easily through the trees. Only once they were gone and the rumbling of their hooves had faded did Helga sigh and turn to look at me.

"I'd considered bringing you along before the Council at the next meeting to help support my argument, but now I'm questioning how good of an idea that is."

"We came to an understanding, didn't we?" I asked.

"Yes, after you threatened them, repeatedly," Helga said.

"It worked."

She sighed. "Can you actually get Earl Robert to go along with this?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" I asked.

We made it about a hundred feet before I suddenly cursed, "Stars and stones."

"What?" Helga asked

"We forgot to ask if they wanted weregild or recompense."

* * *

"Your suggestion is to create a royal forest preserve?" Robert asked.

We were in what passed for a meeting room – a small chamber with thin windows, a long wooden table, a few chairs, some unlit torch sconces, and a single door. There were half a dozen of us in the room – me, the earl, John, Tim, and two other household knights I hadn't met or been introduced to.

"It's the best solution all around," I said. "Their main issue consists of ignorant or ignoble trespassers despoiling what they see as personal, sacred land, and they don't trust any general agreement regarding borders or territory rights to be respected for long. To be fair, I agree with them; people are notoriously bad at respecting territorial claims without constant reinforcement."

"Why not simply drive them out?" asked one of the unintroduced, early thirties-ish knight. He was a little shorter than average, five-seven to eight, with a lot of small scars across his face and hands.

"You could," I said. "At my most pessimistic and unrealistic estimate, there are only a hundred centaurs in the woods. And they don't really have armor. But they have very strong bows, enough to punch through mail with trivial ease, will be faster, smarter, and more coordinated than any horses you bring, know the forest like the back of their hands, and if you try to drive them out they will cost you dearly through constant harassment. And that assumes that they don't have agreements or favors with other groups of faeries they can call upon. In essence, trying to drive them out could well spark a small war."

"Down one path, there lies death and destruction," Tim said, chipping in. "But down the other, you offer your royal brother a unique gift that requires little effort and no coin to maintain."

I shot Tim a quick look, then turned to face Robert fully and nodded. "Like I said, it's the best solution all around for all involved. Everyone wins, no one dies, and the problem is soundly solved." At least until the system of monarchies collapses, but hopefully by then another solution could be figured out.

Robert leaned back in his chair and settled into one of the stereotypical thinking power poses: elbows on the table, hands pressed together, fingers interlaced, just touching your lips. "And what do they ask in return?" he asked after a little while.

"That, they didn't say. But my best guess? That you actually hold up your end of the agreement, give them leave to deal with trespassers, and potentially some weregild or recompense for prior breaches. I don't know how likely that last is, but it's not out of the realm of possibility. Oh, and actual royal recognition of the forest's status, but I assume that's going to be the easiest part."

Robert nodded. "William would barely care. It's my land, what I do with it is my prerogative."

"Then…" I spread my hands. "The next step is to go and talk with them in person."

Robert tapped some fingers together and then turned to one of the other knights. "Prepare an escort. Three knights, twenty footmen." He turned to look at me. "You will be accompanying me."

"I was planning on doing that anyway," I said.

He arched an eyebrow. "Expecting treachery?"

"Not really. But it rarely hurts to be paranoid."

* * *

Author's Note: "It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you."


	12. Chapter 1-XII

**July 1069**

It took a bit of finagling, but I managed to convince Robert that coming in on horses was not really a great idea. It would just make him more of a target, not really help him get away, and would just open the talks on an offensive note. I needed John's input to get him to really listen, but in the end we managed to strike a compromise where we'd ride to the woods' edge and then hike the rest of the way.

And so the twenty-seven of us – the footmen, the knights, Tim included, Robert, me, and two people that had been brought along to watch the horses – rode and walked up to the edge of the woods, where we dismounted, tied the horses to the trees, and walked in as a group. I kept one hand on my staff, one hand in my iron-filled pocket, and my eyes on a constant swivel. Despite all that, I still expected to be surprised.

About five to seven minutes into the walk, we heard the sound of hooves, the crunching of twigs, and the breathing of horses, and a group of a dozen riders, clad in tunics, riding regular horses, and wielding smaller but still impressive bows, rode up to meet us. For a brief moment I was slightly confused, then I took a closer glance at their faces and realized they were the centaurs, just under a glamour.

Robert put a hand on his sword and turned his head to look at me, and in response I said, "It's them."

In a quiet, but still rumbling voice, he asked, "You said they were centaurs."

"Just about all faeries are capable of disguising themselves through glamour. Take this as a good sign; it means they want to actually talk," I replied.

The glamoured centaurs stopped about forty feet ahead of us, just before a small clearing amidst the trees. The one in the lead, the one that I had spoken to just a few hours ago, cantered slightly ahead of the rest and in a clear, booming voice asked, in clear French, "Are you the Earl Robert?"

Robert seemed briefly surprised at being addressed in his native language, but I wasn't surprised. Faeries, in my experience, possessed a gift of tongues that provided them with proficiency in a bewildering array of languages.  
"I am," he said, straightening his posture a bit.

"Then we would speak with you," the centaur said, waving at the clearing and slowly cantering forth.

Robert sucked in a cheek in thought, then made a series of motions, commanding his guard to split around him and for me to accompany him. As we advanced, one other centaur split from the group to join the lead one, and we met as two opposing lines in the middle of the small clearing.

"By what name should I address you?" Robert asked.

"You may call me Roland," the lead centaur said, positioning himself so that his bow was held on the opposite side of his horse body from Robert. "For what purpose do you seek to meet with us?"

"I am told that you view this forest as yours, and that you don't suffer trespassers," he said with surprising diplomacy. I figured he would have started blustering immediately, but I guess you didn't get to be considered a reliable right hand if you were a complete idiot.

"You are well informed. And I ask again: for what purpose do you seek to meet with us?" Roland asked.

"To address whatever problem that's causing you to harass my serfs and damage my holding," Robert replied.

Not the most diplomatic way he could've put it, but not the worst way either.

"And how do you propose to do that?" Roland asked with the barest hint of condescension.

Robert frowned and gave me a look.

"They know what the idea is, they just want to hear it from you," I said.

He sighed, half-rolled his eyes, and turned back to the centaur. "My hope is to designate Berkham Forest as a Kingswood, to guard it from trespass against the vert and the venison. It would attain any that hunted or felled trees or cleared the land or otherwise disturbed the forest as lawbreakers unless they are honored by the king to hunt in his forest."

"And what guarantee of protection against trespass or harassment does that provide us, what guarantee against royal overreach and assault?"

"The forest law would deter most of the people. Those that break it are free to be punished by the under-foresters, the protectors of the forest. Which would be you."

"And if the king seeks to command us outside of those duties, to force us out, to fight for him, what then?" Roland asked.

I heard Robert sigh and start grinding his teeth, and decided to step in.

"The king doesn't usually deal with under-foresters directly, or at all, right? There's a warden or other representative in between them?" I asked.

"There is, a man appointed by the king and given authority on his behalf," Robert said.

"Then create a small order of level-headed men to act as the public face of the under-foresters, regular people that are under the full authority of the king but that Roland and his fellows are willing to work alongside. Have them name a warden that serves as their representative as well as the king's, and if any demands are made then he and the others are there to isolate the centaurs from them."

"You suggest lying to the king," Robert said, turning to try and glower at me.

"I'm suggesting an arrangement that maintains the king's authority while leaving enough space to prevent any strife from leading to an incident of regicide," I said. "Look at it another way: when you raise a levy or send a tax, you don't send everything you have, do you? You bring what's ordered, more if you're generous or loyal, but you don't devastate your lands to do so. So just employ extra men, men that are not foolish, that would have little issue with following royal edicts and make things look normal."

It wasn't exactly an ideal solution, it was still kind of throwing people under the bus, but it was the best solution I could see that would minimize problems, spoiled royals deciding to have a tantrum, and loss of life.

This time, I could almost hear the grinding of Robert's teeth. "Sophistry."

"It's what most diplomacy is based on," I said.

After a few seconds, he sighed and turned stiffly to face Roland. "Well? Would you accept such a parallel order?"

"Under two conditions," Roland said. "We would name this warden, and he would have the authority to take on or dismiss any human… under-foresters at his prerogative."

Robert frowned, and started drumming his fingers against the hilt and grip of his sword.

"Do you even have someone you would name warden?" I asked Roland.

"There are those who we can call upon, arrangements which can be made," he said.

Robert didn't really seem to like that idea.

"Anyone you name will have to accept the authority of the Crown," he said. "I will not be party to undermining royal authority."

"That is acceptable, provided we are not," Roland said.

Robert grit his teeth and chewed as if he had a rock in there. "...I can bring the offer to his grace. More, I cannot promise."

"Then it seems we are at an impasse," the centaur said.

"Can a temporary agreement be reached?" I asked, cutting before anything could get too tense. "The earl restricts logging and hunting, and you allow for the pig herds to roam again?"

Roland looked down at Robert, who looked back up at the centaur. They stared at each other for a solid ten seconds before Roland inclined his head and Robert grudgingly grunted.

"If you agree to bar the forest from all but the swineherds, then we would let them roam free, so long as they only look after their herds," Roland said.

"That's acceptable."

"Then until your king's acceptance or denial, there is nothing more to be said," Roland said.

"You do not seek recompense?" Robert asked doubtfully. "I have been informed you would."

"The oathbreakers have already been punished. The only further recompense we demand is that no more trespass within these woods," Roland said, turning around to go.

Robert didn't have anything to say to that, and after a minute the glamoured centaurs were gone, having disappeared back into the woods.

Robert was the first to break the silence. "Would they name a centaur to warden, do you think?"

"I don't know," I said. "Probably not though. I get the feeling the furthest they can disguise themselves is as they just did, as a man on a horse. Bit hard to fit a man on a horse into a council room. My guess is another faerie, allied or contracted, or a changeling."

"Changeling?"

"The child of a faerie and a human."

Robert's face scrunched up in disgust. "Bestiality," he said, almost cursing.

"Not really," I said. "Or, well, for centaurs, maybe. It's a general term and… complicated. Changelings are born human, they grow human, and only once they approach their majority does their fae heritage start affecting them. Even then it's only in minor ways, and they have to make the conscious choice to become a faerie before it really dominates them. The alternative is that they can turn away from that heritage, at which point they're no different from any other person."

Robert turned to scowl in the direction the centaurs had disappeared in, audibly grinding his teeth. "We shall hear what John has to say on this."

Which I wasn't exactly looking forward to at the time. Magically tolerant or not, I really wasn't sure how he'd take the notion of changelings.

* * *

John stroked his growing grayish-white beard as I repeated to him what I'd told to Robert.

"These changelings. How do they come about?" John asked.

"The usual method: sex, between a man and a woman. Male and a female, if you want to get technical," I said.

"I understood that," John said with a wave of his hand. "What I meant to ask was are they products of rape?"

"Some. Really depends on the faerie, and the type of faerie," I said. "It really runs the whole gamut. Some faeries rape, some deceive, some are direct, some changelings are accidental, it varies. As to these centaurs... I have no clue. They could be talking about their own children, and, traditionally, centaurs are accounted to be rather wild. But these I haven't heard of any rapes or abduction of women, and if they were going to put one of their own in the position, they would have said so. My guess is they would be looking for a sidhe, or a gruff, or another humanoid faerie, or just some random changeling appropriate to the task. I really can't say."

"I see," John said musingly.

"Abominations and bastards," Robert grumbled.

"Sins that reflect on the parents, not the children," the chaplain chided, briefly glancing at Robert before turning back to me. "And what of the children of changelings? What is their nature?"

"Depends on what choice their parents made. If they chose to be fae, then their children would be scions too. If they chose to be human, they'd be regular people. Maybe with a slight inclination for riding horses and forestry, in the case of centaur descendants, but that's about it."

"And if they don't make a choice?" John asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. But my guess is any children would still be human."

The chaplain nodded. "Then baptize them, welcome them into the embrace of God, and as long as they abide by the laws of men, let that be the end of it. Their heritage need not be known, nor cast a shadow over their lives."

"They are still unnatural," Robert said, turning to face John. "Unclean."

"If they can handle iron with their bare skin, they're as human as you or me," I said.

Robert turned to face me with a stormy expression, but before he could get started John coughed loudly.

"I have said my piece, Robert. Yours is to accept or reject it, not dispute it," the chaplain said.

Robert stopped at that, giving us both dark looks, before storming out of the room. Once he was gone, John sighed.

"Well, all things considered, that went better than expected," I said.

John arched an eyebrow.

"He didn't jump to 'kill the mutant' or 'purge the unclean'," I elaborated.

John sighed again. "I fear he may yet take such a position. And I myself am… uncertain."

"You didn't seem that way just a moment ago," I said.

"Because I know Robert, and if I had evinced doubt he would have let his passions rule him. But I suppose I must believe that God had a reason when he ordered the world in this way."

I hummed noncommittally in response. "Do you think he'll come around?"

"That, we shall have to wait to see."

* * *

Author's Note: That was a Warhammer reference at the end there, by the by.


	13. Chapter 1-XIII

**July 1069**

I left the castle and went back into the town, heading towards the inn Helga was staying in with the intent of checking in with her. It took me about five minutes to find the building in question, a small, two story building made of wood, and when I walked in I initially didn't see her. I didn't just assume she wasn't there, however. Instead, I stretched out my arcane senses, feeling for the presence of magic, and found a shimmering barrier off to the side of the small bar room surrounding a single empty table and stool.

After a brief look in that direction, I walked up to the counter and ordered a late lunch from the innkeep, before accepting a flagon of beer and dragging a stool over to that empty table. A few moments later I felt the barrier, probably a veil, shift and move away. Then, about a minute later, I heard someone come down the stairs to the second floor, and looked over my shoulder to find Helga approaching me. She spoke to the innkeep briefly, then moved to sit down at the first stool.

"So, how did it go?" she asked once she settled in.

"Well, there's the rough shape of an agreement," I said, keeping my voice low. "Robert's fine with the whole Kingswood idea, but the centaurs want assurances no royal's going to try and overreach and command them. The compromise I suggested was creating a small group of people that any king could order around to provide a buffer to the centaurs, but… well, there's a bit of a snag. The centaurs want to put someone of their choice in the position of royal forest warden, and Robert's not too keen on that."

"Well, that doesn't sound too bad, but… how would that work? I mean, I guess they have glamours, but…" She trailed off as a serving lady approached, flagon in hand, and offered it to Helga. "Thank you," she said, and smiled at the girl, who was maybe seventeen at most.

I waited for her to go away before answering. "Well, I'm not sure, but I figure they'll either choose a faerie that can pass for human or get a changeling for the position. And Robert didn't really take it well when I explained what changelings were."

Helga's eyes widened. "Oh. Oh." She cocked her head to the side. "That… huh. I mean… I guess centaur are faeries, so… hmm." She looked down at her drink. "Well, I guess it's not that much different to mermaids, and men fantasize about those."

I took a deep breath and brought my beer to my lips. "Can we not talk about this subject, please?"

"I didn't really want to anyway," Helga said, doing the same.

I drank, grimaced at the unpleasant heat of the beer, then powered through it anyway, downing half of it one go.

"So what now?" she asked after I finished chugging.

"Now, I hope Robert swallows his prejudice and gets the king's approval, because if he doesn't I suspect he's going to send an army into the woods to kill the centaurs. Which wouldn't really end well for anyone."

Helga nodded. "What about the vampires?"

"Well, the lady tried to seduce me. I think. She showed up clothed in my bedroom, at least. Not sure how to take that," I said.

Helga arched an eyebrow.

"Nothing happened," I said. "I kicked her out. Supposedly, they want to work together with me, but I don't really trust that, not really. But I figure, while they're trying to convince me, I can get some quid pro quo out of them." I looked down into the remaining half of my beer. "I guess the real test is whether they convince Robert that I have the right idea, or if they try and sabotage me."

"And if they try and sabotage you?" Helga asked.

I finished the rest of the beer. "Then I start playing dirty."

I went back to the castle shortly after finishing lunch, and after some thought decided to spend some time practicing my swordwork. So I set up in a corner of the main yard, drew my sword, and started going through some katas and motions, ignoring the way the guards on the walls and by the gate looked at me. About half an hour later, past the point where I had sheathed my sword and started running laps around the yard, I saw Tim come out of the castle and pause as he saw me jogging. Since I didn't know what he was there for I didn't stop jogging, not until he stepped in front of me and held up a hand.

I came to a stop and spent a few moments getting my panting under control, my eyes never leaving Tim, before I straightened, stretched, and groaned. "Tim," I said once I was done.

"Sir Harry," he replied.

"Still not a knight. What do you want?" I asked.

"My sister would like to inform you that she is counseling the good earl to see reason," Tim said.

"Counseling. Is that what kids are calling it these days? I can never keep up with the lingo."

Tim sighed. "Can you not simply take this in the spirit it is offered, as an open hand of cooperation?"

"I'll take it as a sign of mutually beneficial intent," I replied. "But alright, I'll play ball. I'm willing to entertain the notion that you and your sister are genuine, for now. One question though: why are you here?"

"Whatever do you mean?" he asked.

"Oh for…" I pitched my voice lower. "Your court's main haunt is the mainland. I'm sure there's a lot of fertile ground and opportunities there. But instead, you're here in bumfuck rural England. What gives?" I asked.

"I could ask the same of you," he said. "What is an obviously distinguished individual like yourself doing living in a hut in, as you say, 'bumfuck rural England'?"

"If I agree to tell you, will you share?" I responded.

Tim pursed his lips. Then, after a suitably dramatic pause, said, "Certain… incidents have prompted us to distance ourselves from our greater family. And you?"

"It costs money to live large, and I don't have money," I said in return.

Tim smiled. "Well, perhaps we can fix that."

"Save it. If I wanted to sell out, I could have done so already." I stuck my hands in my pockets. "Like I said Tim, I'm provisionally willing to work with you, to believe that you might not be like the rest of your family. But I'm not an idiot either; I know how your extended family operates. And so far, you haven't exactly proven to be different."

"Habits are hard to break," Tim said.

"Then I'm sure you'll appreciate my habit of paranoia," I replied. "By the way, tell your sister that if she wants to speak with me, she can set up a meeting like a normal person, not show up in my room and play the innocent like a fool."

"Why do you assume she was playing?"

"Tim, I know the way your family handles the 'initiation' into its secrets," I didn't miss the way Tim stiffened at that, "and I personally find it horrendous. Now I don't know if your sister regrets what happened or not, but I don't buy for a second that she's an innocent."

"And why not?"

"Because the earl is still alive, and I also don't buy that the only thing that's going on there is casual leering," I said. "Now, Tim, before you go any further with trying to muddy the waters here, let me make one thing clear: I _can_ determine her nature. I would like to not look upon her with my Sight, but I will if I have to. So let's get one thing straight: if I find out you've lied to me, _especially_ about something so basic and insulting as the nature of your sister, we're going to have problems. _Big_ problems. Now, with that in mind, would you like to continue with your current course of action?"

Tim's expression grew flat and guarded. "No," he said simply.

"Great. Now go tell your sister, unless she's busy 'counseling'," I said, before walking away.

I know there's a simpler way I could have checked their sincerity, if I was willing to go that far. I could have soulgazed him, or her, or both of them. But there were things I'd seen under the Sight that had scarred me, bad, and still haunted my nightmares. I didn't feel like taking the risk of adding to them.

Besides, I had no clue what they'd see in mine. 

* * *

There wasn't much else to do after that. I didn't want to talk further with Tim, Lucille wasn't an option even if I wanted to, neither was Robert, Eadric wasn't an interesting conversationalist, and John, well, I guess I could have gone back and talked to John, or Helga, but instead I decided to take a proper tour of the castle to figure out what the amenities were.

There was a small private chapel – no surprise there – lots of bedrooms and living quarters, a courtroom, meeting place, kitchen, so on and so on. And, surprisingly, a library.

That instantly caught my attention when a guard mentioned it, and I'm sure I disturbed and creeped him out at the urgency with which I prodded him to lead me there, even more so by the way our breaths started misting over as we walked.

To my slight disappointment, it wasn't a large library, twenty feet by thirty at my best estimate, with a good chunk of square footage taken up by tall, thin shelves along both sides of the entrance, a few tables, and some chairs. One of those chairs was occupied by a familiar woman, clad in a more conservative and covering red dress. She was seated by the open window, reading a book by the noonday sun, and she looked up in interest as I entered.

"Ah. I see you've finally found the library," Elfleda said.

I arched an eyebrow at her. "Were you waiting for me the entire time?" I asked.

"Not particularly. Reading's one of the few enjoyments afforded to noblewomen, those that bother to learn to read anyway. I simply figured that you'd arrive here at some point. I am glad to see I was not mistaken in that assumption."

I nodded and entered the room proper, closing the door behind me. I glanced around at the shelves, and couldn't help frown at the paucity of books. "So what's all this?"

"Primarily the chaplain's collection," she said. "Though I've added some of my personal items. The right side," she waved to my left, "consists of dry, practical texts."

It was also, I noted, the fuller side.

"And the other?" I asked.

"Novels," she said with a small smile. "Some are French translations, others are copies of the original Greek."

"You know Greek?" I asked, faintly surprised. I didn't know Greek myself. Well, I guess I could have learned it if I was willing to suffer through migraines for a few weeks straight, but that didn't really appeal to me.

"I can read Greek," she corrected. "It's simpler, not to mention more… fulfilling to read the originals. And you?"

I shook my head. "English, French, and Latin's it for me. And I guess there aren't any English books here."

"No," she said with some amusement. "As for Latin, a good number of the tomes on the right are in that language. I assume so, at least. In fact, I believe the top shelf consists entirely of ecclesiastical texts, if you're so inclined." She sounded dismissive as she said that last bit.

"Not a fan?" I asked.

"Simply not interested," she said, going back to her reading.

I scratched behind one of my ears and went over to the nonfiction section, mostly out of interest in what constituted priestly nonfiction. The top shelf consisted of a few Bible versions, from what I could determine, as well as a number of theological dissertations, analyses, so on. Then, beneath that, tomes on philosophy and natural philosophy, and below that...

"What the fuck?" I exclaimed.

I heard the rustling of clothes and pages as Elfleda presumably looked up. "What?"

"I thought you said this was full of dry and practical texts," I said.

"I did. And?"

"He's got a… holy shit, _third edition_ Aeneid here," I said, carefully taking out the book and peeking at the opening. "I repeat, what the fuck?"

"Oh?" She sounded much more interested now.

"Or, well, maybe second edition, this isn't a scroll so it's not one of the original copies and definitely not the original original, but it looks like it's one of the first manuscripts. How the hell did he get his hands on this?"

"Perhaps he asked the earl to procure it as a favor," Elfleda said after a brief pause. "He's rather an ascetic in every other regard."

"Yeah, but this couldn't have been cheap," I said, putting the book back in its place very, very carefully, then started scanning the rest of that shelf. "And… well, I think that's Greek. Maybe."

I heard the closing of a book and the shuffling of shoes, and shifted over for her to crouch down next to me. "Ah. The _Iliad_ and the _Odyssey_."

"You didn't take a good look at this shelf, did you?" I asked, ignoring any implications over our physical proximity.

"It seems not," she said, straightening her legs and brushing clean her dress.

I sighed and got up as well, then stretched and groaned as I cracked my back. Whatever future-Mab had done to fix my broken spine had done a very good job, but there were still occasional flareups of painful cramps and twinges of pain. It was probably a result of all the other blunt force trauma I've accumulated over the years.

"So, is now a good time to have that talk, or am I interrupting you?" I asked.

"Not at all," she said, moving back to her previous seat. "I must admit, I've been brimming with curiosity since our encounter last night."

"Alright," I said, grabbing a chair in the middle of the room and swiveling it to face her. "What's your perspective on what happened?"

"Magic, I assume," she said. "And an indicator of strength? Or are all such contacts so… thrilling?"

"No, you're right on both counts," I said, settling down into my seat. "Magical talent and rough strength can be determined through touch. I assume you weren't aware of that, never met anyone else with the gift?"

"Oh, yes, that would've gone over very well. 'Father, I think I might be a witch, can you help me with that'?" She snorted.

"Well, the reason I ask is that magic tends to run in bloodlines. Sometimes it fades away and then pops up at random, but usually the best indicator is that if your mother had magic and didn't let it wither, then you almost certainly would too."

"Ah," she said, her expression turning flat. "Well, my mother and I certainly weren't very close. I'd prefer if we didn't discuss her."

"Fair enough," I said. "Then, do you know what you can do? With your level of power, you should have one, distinct, partially instinctive ability."

"That, I can tell you," she said. "I sense emotions."

I nodded as things came together. "Is that why you avoid eye contact? Or is that just with me?"

"I discovered early on that the extra detail could be useful, but was also irritating. And not always the most subtle. Why, is there another reason I shouldn't have looked you in the eye?"

"Past a certain point of power, when you can be called a proper wizard, eye contact with another person that isn't momentary initiates something called a soulgaze. It's… the best way to describe it is that you see the other person's soul, the unvarnished truth of their being. And that vision stays fresh in your mind, forever."

"And that's why _you _avoid eye contact," she concluded.

"Yeah," I replied. "Though your gift kind of makes me curious. I've met other sensitives, proper psychomancers and more narrow practitioners like you, and they've generally stayed away from groups of people. But you don't seem to."

"It is an irritant," she admitted. "But if I allowed that to dictate my life then it would be a great failure and surrender." She smiled faintly. "Like whatever aura of cold you carry with you."

"It's actually just random temperature swings, but I acknowledge the point," I said. I tapped my hands against my legs as I went through other topics of discussion. "So, how do you feel emotion?"

"I see auras," she replied. "Waves of colors I've come to match to emotions."

"It doesn't press up against your mind?" I asked, curious.

"Not really, I don't think," she said slowly.

"Huh." That was definitely different. "So, how do I look?" I asked.

She pursed her lips and started looking me over analytically. "Guarded, a tinge of frustration, curiosity…" Her lips quirked into a smile. "Interest."

I coughed.

"Oh, there's no need for that. I'm aware of the reactions I evoke. Keenly so, in fact," she said, leaning forward slightly and then laughing at my reaction.

"Yes, well," I said in between coughs, "are you Robert's… court sorceress then?"

She laughed idly. "Oh, no, he doesn't know. I'm just an outlier, really. The Aldrich family never held any important land, was never rich, was never great. It just served the Count of Mortain, and that's Robert now. My mother is gone, as is my father, I have no aunts or uncles, no one to offer a dowry if anyone would even accept such a paltry offering."

"Well, even ignoring the dowry, which… whatever, there's got to be plenty of people interested in marrying you," I said.

"Out of lust, yes," she said. "It's very easy to see lust, it shines so very brightly. But true, genuine interest is very scarce. I've come to an accord with Robert, in that regard. I serve in the court as his shining pretty, help him in various subtle ways, and in turn he pretends to wield me as a bauble and lure while heeding my opinions."

"And how does Lucille figure into that?" I asked.

Elfleda's lips curled into a frown. "Ah, the lying seductress. There is something wrong with her. She shines with lust, but it's not her own. She's irritated by my presence, but so far we haven't clashed over anything important."

"What do you mean it's not her own?" I asked.

I had a damn good clue what she meant, actually, but I figured that outing Lucille and, by extension, Tim, as vampires would ruin any potential partnership between us. Which I was prepared to do if they turned out to be malevolent, but I wasn't willing to go that far right now.

"She and her brother both are… shrouded with lust. Like they impress it, rather than express it. But underneath, they're different. Timothée is proud and arrogant and whimsical, while Lucille is… cold. Simply cold."

Useful information, if definitely from a biased source.

"Do they have similar… gifts as mine, only inverted?" she went on to ask.

"Basically," I hedged.

I felt a little guilty about that, honestly. I was leaving an attractive woman with a very useful talent in close proximity to a male Raith. If he ever found out what Elfleda was capable of, if Lucille ever found out, Elfleda wouldn't be able to defend herself. But if I told the Renouths to stay away from Elfleda, they'd start looking into her in more detail. Or maybe they'd just assume I was shacking up with her, and displaying traditional 'ra-ra my woman stay away' male ownership. Could go either way. Either way, I needed to know more.

"Has Tim tried seducing you?" I asked cautiously, trying to feel out the state of affairs and how far I might need to go.

She laughed. "Oh, yes, quite a few times. He's not bad to look at, I'll give him that, but the way he tries to use lust against me is just… distinctly unattractive. After he annoyed me one too many times, he came to understand that I was most emphatically not interested."

"Really?" I asked. "How'd that happen."

Her lips curled into a smirk. "It may or may not have involved some rather… pointed words."

I snorted. "Rejected him in front of everyone?"

She shrugged in a carefree and unconvincing manner. "If that's what you wish to believe…"

"And that's it? He hasn't tried to get revenge?" I asked.

"No, nor his sister." Her smirk widened. "Why? Worried about little me?"

"A little," I said. "The way I see it they have more influence over Robert than you do, and if they wanted to hurt you, I imagine they could."

"That's sweet of you, but I can handle myself," she said dismissively. "Now, I imagine you came here to read. Do you have any particular preferences, or would you like a recommendation?"

"Well, I don't know what's here, so by all means, go ahead," I said.

"Hmm. In that case…"

* * *

Author's Note: In general, unless I specify otherwise, assume Harry is speaking with someone in their "native language" – so English with Eadric, Helga, Rowena, Salazar (yeah yeah I know English isn't his native language and that it's probably Basque whatever), French with the Normans, etc.


	14. Chapter 1-XIV

**July 1069**

When Robert found us about four hours later, he opened the door to find the two of us quietly sitting in separate seats reading separate books, with my overcoat around her after a half hour of chilling air had left her freezing.

She'd recommended Leo of Naples' Latin translation of the _Alexander Romance_, which John had apparently acquired after she'd brought in a copy in the original Greek. It's very exaggerated, and not exactly historical. Fantasy historical fiction is the genre I'd put it in if I had to.

We both looked up from our books in his direction when he opened the door, and he spent a few moments looking back and forth between us with a confused expression on his face before shaking his head and gruffly clearing his throat. "Jedi, if we could have a word?"

Eventually, I'm sure the joke will get old. It hasn't yet.

"Sure," I said, carefully closing the book and putting it back on the fiction shelf before walking over to Elfleda to take my coat. "Need this, sorry."

"It's fine," she said idly, shrugging it off as I approached. I took it, put it on again, tugged and brushed it so that it sat properly, and then headed towards Robert. He stepped back from the door, I stepped through, and he closed the door. And continued to look at me.

"Have you come to a decision?" I prompted after an awkward silence.

Robert grunted. "We'll try your way. Though God only knows how the king will take it."

That was good, though it meant there was another meeting with the vampires in my near-future. Probably.

"Great. Then if that's it, I think Eadric and I will be leaving tomorrow."

Robert gave me a strange look.

"I don't live here," I reminded him. "And at this point, my job is essentially done. There's a solid framework for a lasting arrangement, and unless things go very wrong with the king, I have no further role to play. So I'm going back home. Ideally, after being paid."

"You're a hermit," he said.

"Being a hermit can be surprisingly expensive if you're trying to be a helpful hermit," I said. "Looking after my horse, my house, buying food and drink, lodging when I travel, investigation expenses, it adds up. And I think that, even if negotiations do fall through, I've done you a good service by revealing the problem to you and arranging a détente."

"I suppose you have at that," Robert grunted. "Very well. How much?"

Aaand that's where my plan fell apart.

"Well, I don't feel comfortable charging under the assumption the arrangement comes about when that's still in flux," I said slowly, stalling for time as I tried to figure out a remotely appropriate basis for naming a sum. "So there's just the matter of expenses, expertise in negotiating with the centaurs, the revenues from the increased swine population that can now be supported."

Robert snorted. "You have no figure in mind, do you?"

"I wouldn't say that…"

Robert was silent for a few moments, then offered, "Ten shillings. It's the bounty on a thief, as I recall. Close enough."

I did some math real quick and that came out to half a pound sterling and a millennium's inflation is absurd so call that something like multiple thousands of dollars and I was suddenly reminded of why I tolerated working for rich clients.

"That would work nicely, thank you," I said, deliberately avoiding the g-word that might cause him to be less beneficent in the future.

And that was that, really.

The rest of the day passed without incident, I got paid, grabbed some food as a bribe to Larissa to carry a message to Helga for me, had a night of uninterrupted sleep, and in the morning I met up with Eadric and his footmen and we headed back towards Dorham. All very neat, simple, and routine.

For some reason, that put me on edge.

"So what happened?" Eadric asked once we were half an hour out of town. He sounded gruff and looked sour; clearly, he hadn't enjoyed being left to flounder in a Norman court for a few days, and I doubted he would ever willingly come back to Berkhamsted without very pressing reason.

"Centaurs in the woods being half-justified partisans, half-conceited assholes keeping people out of the woods," I summarized. "I went to talk to them, hashed out an agreement, and now I hope Robert can carry this across the finish line."

Eadric shot me a strange look, then shook his head and turned away.

"What about you?" I asked.

"The earl was asking after my son and daughter and bringing them to court. Seemed more interested in Eva than Cuthbert," Eadric said sourly.

"Why?" I asked, even though I had some idea.

Eadric was silent for about half a minute, though I could see him working his jaw and shifting his lips. "Men can die in many ways. From battle, from training, from sickness, accidents, murders. Cuthbert is yet young, and unmarried, and childless. If he dies, then there's just Eva, and whoever marries her gets Dorham."

"And even if that's not the goal, bringing Cuthbert in and maybe getting him a Norman wife will work almost as well," I said.

"Aye," Eadric replied with obvious distaste. "There's some hope to find good spouses for them in Mercia, but God only knows how long that will remain the case. Earl Edwin and his brother already tried rebelling, and failed before they could even gather their fyrds. I doubt he'll remain Earl of Mercia for much longer, and then what? More Normans?"

"Basically," I said, already knowing how this story would go. Short of me significantly derailing my course of history by going all Dark Lord Dresden, Emperor of Britannia, the Normans were going to steadily replace and integrate with the Anglo-Saxons. Maybe something I did or would do in the future could spark a butterfly effect that overthrew the Normans, but I really doubted that. "I'm not going to tell you to give in, because believe me, me giving that advice is the height of hypocrisy. But I will say this: you should consider the reasons for and against both sides, working more closely with the Normans and stubbornly resisting. Saying fuck it all, staying true to your beliefs, and damn the consequences is a very seductive point of view. And sometimes, it's necessary. But other times it also leads to unpleasant consequences. Not just for you, but the people around you."

"That's simple for you to say. You don't have ties to the people or the land," Eadric grumbled.

I shrugged. "You're right, I don't. But I also don't have any ties to the Normans. It makes me about the most unbiased point of view you're going to get."

He didn't have anything to say to that.

We were lucky enough to not run into any travelers on the road, suspicious or otherwise. I think after the last encounter, Eadric had a fairly justified suspicion of people you ran into on the road.

Once we made it back to Dorham I split off to head back to my house. I'd just taken everything off of Shadowfax, dusted the various surfaces, and sat down with some too-fucking-warm beer and a serious desire to transfer the heat out into something else when someone knocked on the door.

"Hell's bells," I groaned. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Grumbling all the while, I got up off my chair and shambled my way over to the door. "What?" I asked irritably as I pulled open the door.

Eadric looked back at me, and I sighed and went on, "Is the sky raining cats and dogs or something?"

"...no," Eadric said after a moment. "Hilda is inviting you to dinner."

I looked out the door and up at the sun. "It's not that late."

"Still," he said.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "Fine. Just give me a few minutes." I closed the door, finished the beer, grimaced, and grabbed my staff and sword from where they were standing. I strapped the latter to my waist, then walked back out. Eadric gave me a look when he saw me armed.

"In my line of work, there's no such thing as being over prepared," I said by way of explanation.

Not that I was expecting a sudden attack during the twenty minute walk to the manor, but I'd been unpleasantly surprised more times than I can count or care to remember.

The late lunch, early dinner - linner? No, that's not nearly as pleasing a contraction as brunch - was a mixture of chicken, beef, bread, and some herbs and vegetables. Technically sort of enough to make a sandwich, but also not really.

Note to self: figure out tomatoes. They're a necessary part of both the burger and the pizza projects.

There were some polite pleasantries exchanged, Hilda pressed Eadric and me for details about what had happened - more me, once it became clear that Eadric wanted to discuss things in private and I had the more 'exciting' story.

"I'm curious about something, if you don't mind my asking," Hilda said after I was done with the centaur story.

"Depends what it is, but you can still ask," I replied, before shoveling some chicken into my mouth.

"Your hands. You wear a black glove on your left, but not your right. Is there some particular significance to that?" she asked.

I set down my fork, washed down the chicken with some watered ale, and held up a finger as I finished chewing. "You know, you're actually the first person to ask me that," I said once I was done. "And yes, there is, but it's not really all that exciting."

"How so?" she asked.

I sighed. "Well, some years ago, an enemy of mine burned my hand, badly. I'm talking charred black, maybe should have amputated badly. I didn't take the physician's advice, and it's healed some over the years, but it's still a gruesome sight."

"How did it heal?" Eadric asked.

"Magic, salves, exercise, and sheer stubbornness," I said. "I can show you if you want, but it's... not pretty."

In retrospect, I wonder if there wasn't some other force at play right then. Not anything terribly overt, but still; I showed off a gruesome war wound with very little prompting, and considering what happened next, well...

Hilda looked over at her husband, and he seemed to deliberate, glancing over at their children. Then he shrugged, and turned to face me. I shrugged in turn, then slowly took off my glove.

The hand was definitely a lot better than when it had first been burned. 'Better', however, was definitely relative. It was like, well, there aren't really any timely metaphors or people of comparison. The best way I can describe it as if it were wrinkly old man skin, dried and weathered out in the sun for days, then scrunched up, matted, stretched back out, and then smoked over a fire. It was pinkish, and leathery, and scarred, and even though I had full articulation and a fairly decent sense of touch, the sight of it still produced enough nausea and the unwelcome memory and stench of sizzling flesh that I preferred to cover it up.

Eadric and his family went through the whole process of immediate, instinctive revulsion, followed by morbid curiosity. I stretched out my hand and held it over the center of the table, and wasn't too surprised when someone reached out to tentatively poke it.

I was surprised that the someone in question was Eva, more so when she flinched back with a shriek as something like an electric current established itself from the momentary skin contact.

I heard Eadric's chair screech as he pushed it back and saw Hilda reach out to caress Eva's hand, only to discover it was completely fine. I, meanwhile, just let out a long, resigned sigh.

It was just my luck my landlord's daughter was gifted with magic. And quite a good amount of it too, if the initial contact was any indication.

"And I think that's enough now," I said, pulling my hand back and putting the glove back on as I weathered the glares of Eadric and Cuthbert, one far more concerning than the other. Hilda bundled both her children off at that point, and I was left alone in the dining room with Eadric.

"I think you, Hilda, and I need to have a private chat," I said, grabbing some more food while I could.

Eadric stared at me, eyes narrowed, and after a brief pause asked, "What was that?"

"Either a really bad case of static electricity, or something we need to talk about," I repeated. "But I didn't do anything, if that's what you're wondering."

Eadric folded his arms together and looked at me. There was complete silence for about half a minute, save for the sound of cutlery on plates and the chewing of meat, then, "What about the vampire?" he asked suddenly. "You left him, at the court."

I nodded. "I don't think he's a threat."

Eadric's expression turned dark. "You don't think he's a threat," he repeated slowly.

"No," I said, giving him a look. "If I did, there'd be a partially melted castle in Berkhamsted right now. There isn't. I acknowledge it's hard for you to accept him as a person after what happened, but he is. I'm not going to kill him just because he acted somewhat like an asshole, or because he's different." I drank some more ale. "I mean, if I did that, I'd have to kill myself. And you."

Eadric didn't look too pleased by my response, but I didn't care that much. Honestly, I just didn't care much about anything, really. Eadric had been right when he'd said I had no connection to this time, place, or people, and it just...

It all made me bitter, I suppose. I hadn't left things in a good state, back home, but they hadn't been terrible either. I'd helped fix some of my mistakes, my fuckups. Things were on the upswing, on the whole, and I'd died and gone on to my judgment with that assurance. And rather than... whatever might have happened, wherever I might have gone, heaven or hell or something else, I got thrown back in time and woke up to a nightmare, then forced back into the same routine as before, just worse.

Yeah, I wasn't really feeling attached to anyone here. Just ties of duty and obligation, mixed in with the cold 'comfort' of the knowledge that there was no way back for me.


	15. Chapter 1-XV

**July 1069**

The tense, awkward silence is broken a few minutes later when Hilda finally comes back, tentatively opening the door to see us sitting at the table, one brooding, the other brooding and eating.

"You should probably take a seat," I said, downing the rest of my watered ale and stretching my arms out.

Hilda quickly glanced at Eadric, then slowly moved to take the seat she'd vacated before, right beside Eadric. "What was that?" she asked.

I moved the plate in front of me off to the side and rested my hands in the now open space. Part of me wanted to be blunt, the tired part of me, but the saner part of me appreciated that springing the 'your daughter's a witch' surprise on them without care was likely to backfire.

"How did your daughter describe what happened?" I asked, wanting to make sure my initial assumption was actually right. "I assume you asked."

Hilda nodded. "Like the small shocks you get on dry days, only stronger, like fire was traveling up her arm."

I sighed. There went that hope. "She wasn't harmed though?"

Hilda shook her head. "Just surprised."

"Good. Well, in that case, my best theory on what happened is that your daughter has the potential to wield magic."

I spoke calmly and kind of drew out the words, and even with that once I was done speaking both Eadric and Hilda looked at me as if they didn't understand. That state of incomprehension lasted for five or so seconds before Hilda hesitantly asked, "What do you mean?"

"Magic is like a muscle, or a skill. Painting, swimming, fighting, so on," I said. "And like some people are born with a predisposition for growing tall and bulky and strong, and some take to water like a fish, some people are born with a talent and affinity for magic. Your daughter seems to be one of those people."

Eadric's expression was, let's call it conflicted, but Hilda preempted whatever his mood was brewing up to me by putting a hand over his. "But what does that mean?" she insisted.

"Well, if it hasn't already, her magic will soon come out in a moment of strong emotion. I can't say how or when, but that's usually how it first manifests. It's likely to be more surprising and confusing than dangerous, though I can't guarantee that. In my case, I was quite a bit younger than her, about four years at my guess. I was in… a race, let's say. I was just a boy then, tiny. But I really, really wanted to win. So when I took off running, my magic manifested by throwing me about a dozen feet forward from the start. She'll probably go through something like that." I didn't mention the other end of that spectrum, that she might manifest her magic in a way that broke one of the Laws and marked her. It wouldn't have helped the tone, and I doubted Eva would be faced with a situation that might prompt that kind of panic or hatred as to lead to a breach. "I was taken in by another wizard soon after that, so I didn't have a lot of time to practice on my own, but I imagine that would be the next step for her, after that first manifestation. And she would practice, almost certainly. Wielding magic is… not easily describable, but it's thrilling. Part of it's the power, the ability to do things others can't, but the other side is the wonder. And that can be dangerous."

I fell silent then, waiting for a question or response from them. When it came, it came from Eadric.

"Dangerous how?" he asked. He still seemed dour, but for the moment it didn't seem to be aimed at me, overridden by his parental concern.

"I assume your father trained you? In how to fight, ride, all that, I mean," I said.

Eadric nodded.

"When you were training, did your pride or confidence ever get the better of you? Tried to mount a horse before you were ready, ran too hard, tried to fight someone way better than you?" I asked, more rhetorically than seriously. I waited for him to nod before going on. "It's kind of like that. When you're starting out, you don't have a good sense of what's happening to you or what you can do. My first time, I was lucky to get away with a few sprains. If I'd tried that same trick again, I could have landed badly and broken my foot, or worse. I don't know what your daughter's capable of, but she could make a similar misestimation or mistake. She might hurt herself, or damage her surroundings, or worse, hurt the people around her."

"Can she refuse the magic?" he asked.

Ah, of course. There was the big question. "In principle, yes," I said. "In practice, probably not. She would need to develop a distaste or disaffection or disinterest in magic, and then deliberately avoid using her gift, let it wither. That would be a process of years, during which her magic would still affect her and her surroundings in various ways. And I wouldn't recommend pressuring her to do so either, for a number of reasons. It could ruin your relationship with her, drive her further into magic, and then her experiences are tainted by fear and distrust, and that can be very, very bad for a budding practitioner."

"But you can teach her?" Hilda asked, tightening her grip on Eadric's hand.

I considered the question. That's what all that was leading to, wasn't it? If I would teach her. I could direct Eva to one of my colleagues, wash my hands of this situation. I'd kind of screwed up my last apprentice, after all. But on the other hand, had any of them had that kind of experience? Rowena didn't seem the type, Helga seemed even younger than me – though with the way wizards aged, that didn't necessarily mean anything – and Salazar… yeah, no.

"I can," I said after a long pause. "I used to have an apprentice, before… she graduated." I tried not to let the pain show on my face. I'd really failed Molly there at the end, drawing her into my suicide plot. "But if we're talking about me taking her on as an apprentice, I think that's a discussion she should be present for." I frowned as an idle thought came to me. "And I think I should test Cuthbert too."

"You think he might have magic as well?" Hilda asked.

"It's not impossible," I said. "And if he does, it's better to find out early."

"What would this testing entail?" Eadric asked, his earlier gruffness returning.

"A handshake," I said with a bit of dryness.

"After Eva, I think," Hilda said, looking over at her husband. He worked his jaw for a few seconds, thinking, then nodded. Hilda got up and left the dining room again.

"Who was she? Your apprentice," Eadric asked shortly after.

"Her name was Molly. She came from a family… kind of like yours, actually. Though much larger. Eight children, four girls, four boys."

Eadric's eyebrows rose.

"She was the eldest. Her mother wasn't very fond of magic however, and their relationship wasn't great either. So when Molly's magic came in, she didn't tell anyone. She just started self-experimenting." I gave him a hard look. "And things almost ended badly for her, before I found out."

Eadric grimaced.

Hilda came back a minute later, the mini-her that was Eva in tow. She looked nervous, and apprehensive, and a little wary of me. I couldn't exactly blame her. I also noticed the new seating arrangement: Eva in Hilda's prior seat, her parents on either side of her.

"I'm sorry for what happened, Eva," I said. "I wasn't expecting that, and didn't intend for it either. But it does prompt a question."

"Y-yes?" she asked.

"Has anything strange happened around you in, say, the last year? Bursts of color, loud sounds, people ignoring you, stuff like that?" I asked.

"I… I don't… think so, no. Why?" she asked.

I went to respond, then caught myself just before I did. I was going to go for something tripe like 'well, you have magic', but on second thought, I had the perfect line for this situation:

"Yer' a wizard, Eva," I said.

She stared at me, wide-eyed.

"Or witch," I said. "I don't get why the women prefer that term, but apparently they do. So." I trailed off, waiting for her to recover. She didn't seem to be recovering. I gave her half a minute, and when her wide-eyed, silent expression didn't shift, prompted, "Eva?"

"I- uh- what?" she asked once her brain finally finished processing. "What do you mean I'm a wizard?"

"You have magic," I said. "It's what that spark meant."

She blinked about a dozen times in rapid succession. "But… I…"

I grabbed some leftover bread and started munching on it as I waited for the shock and surprise to pass, taking the time to glance at her parents. Eadric still looked sour, of course, while Hilda wrapped an arm around her daughter and rubbed-slash-shook her shoulder.

"But… what does… what does that mean?" she finally asked.

"It means you have two choices before you," I said. "You can ignore it when it crops up, let it sit and wither, and live your life as you would have before. That's a perfectly viable choice, and a simpler one. The alternative is that you develop it, and accept your magic, with all its opportunities, gifts, and burdens."

"Burdens?" she asked. Figures she'd go for that right away.

"Humans are contradictory beings. We never really know who we are, we change our minds a lot, and we can technically choose to be anything. It's the product and benefit of having Free Will. But that same mutability affects magic as well. It starts affecting your surroundings somehow, or you, and it tends to isolate you." I waved at the room. "For example, this room feels very warm, doesn't it? Almost as hot as being under the noonday sun."

Eva nodded jerkily.

"That's because of me, my magic. I've met others with obvious, difficult to conceal birthmarks, leathery skin, people who curdle and ruin milk and cheese and butter around them, people who develop warts or who have things break around them. It's never seriously debilitating," so long as you were willing to live as a Luddite, "but it does affect your life, mark you as different. And the act of wielding magic is a very serious one, requiring great care and respect. You would be wielding the very stuff of life, after all."

Eadric's frown was a little more obvious, as if he were confused as to why I was portraying magic negatively. I didn't really view it that way though. I was just giving Eva the information with which to make a more informed decision.

"What… what will I develop?" she asked.

I shrugged. "It's personal, from what I can tell. But it'll come in soon, if it hasn't started already."

"And will I have to leave my family?"

I shook my head. "You'd be around them less, probably, while you were training, but you wouldn't have to leave."

"Then… would you teach me?" she asked, shock and surprise and maybe a little excitement giving way to nervousness and timidness. Wait, no, timidity.

"There's the rub," I said. "That is an option, and a good one in a lot of ways. You'd stay close to your family, wouldn't have to go far for training, I have some experience in teaching young wizards, and I have knowledgeable colleagues that could fill in the gaps for me if something came up in your education I wasn't familiar with. On the other hand, I anticipate a lot of traveling and problems in the future, which could be disruptive to your education, or even dangerous." I glanced at Eadric. "I refer you to the redcap attack as an example. The alternative is I refer you to a witch I know that lives… relatively close by, close enough it would be practical to visit home every once in a while, but far enough that you would have to stay with her for the bulk of your time as an apprentice. That would be a safer and more consistent option. You don't need to decide now, in fact, I'd suggest you take a week or two to just think and talk about it. But those are your options."

Eva nodded jerkily, then looked from side to side, glancing at her parents. "I…"

Hilda smiled, pulled Eva in, and kissed her on the head. "You should go think about it. We have more to talk about with Harry."

The girl nodded and excused herself, practically hurrying out of the room – with a slight bounce in her step, if I wasn't mistaken.

"Can you tell us more about this witch?" Hilda asked once her daughter was gone.

"Her name's Rowena," I said. "She's a recluse. I'm not too sure how she'd take the notion of an apprentice, I'd need to ask her next time we meet, but I think she'd consider it."

Eadric seemed to be seriously considering that option, and I was pretty sure I could guess why.

"Let me guess," I said. "You're hesitant about having your daughter around an unmarried older man for extended periods of time."

Eadric gave me an unamused look, but nodded.

"Well, let me put those doubts to rest," I said. "When I first took on my apprentice, Molly," I repeated her name for Hilda's benefit, "the first time I brought her to my house, which was in fact the day I took her on, she stripped naked and tried to seduce me. Seventeen year old, nubile girl, naked in my bed, practically throwing herself at me. Want to know what I did?"

"Please," Eadric said coldly.

"I dumped a bucket of cold water on her head and left the room," I said bluntly, killing the tension like an anti-joke killed all sense of humor.

Neither of them seemed to know how to take that.

"Trust me, I have no designs on or interest in your daughter beyond the magical. I'm not a pedophile."

That said, if Eva somehow ended up developing a Molly-like crush on me, I would seriously start looking into ways to kill an archangel.

* * *

Author's Note: A reminder before people really start: Eva is fourteen right now, so any kind of shipping is strictly verboten.


	16. Chapter 2-I

**August 1069**

"So!" Helga said, clapping her hands together. "Before we get started, does anyone have something they want to discuss?"

We were back in Rowena's tower, a week after I'd dropped the bombshell on Eadric and Hilda and Eva. We weren't at the top top of Rowena's tower, but we were fairly high up, in the usual meeting room. That is to say, a single large square table, four relatively nice chairs, a thick carpet, and some glasses filled with watered wine, the whole setup right next to an open window.

Cuthbert wasn't magical, by the way. All the handshake had produced was extreme confusion on his end. Just thought I should mention that.

"Yeah," I said, sliding the chair back even further to make sure I had ample leg space. "I picked up an apprentice recently, so I'm going to need some elementary magic texts. And maybe some introductory books in general; I'm pretty sure she's illiterate."

After a few days, Eadric had come by to say that Eva wanted to apprentice under me, something he clearly hadn't been that pleased about, and then we hashed out a rough schedule regarding her training. So far, the lessons had been pretty basic, meditation and such, just getting her to the point where she could actually feel magic and some very general philosophy and theory.

"You did?" Helga asked, blinking. "When? Is it that woman from Berkhamsted?"

I shook my head. "No, it's my landlord's daughter. She's got a lot of potential; full wizard, definitely."

"Witch," Helga and Rowena corrected simultaneously.

"Terminology is important, Harry," Helga added chidingly.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, witch. The point stands."

"Are we sure that's a good idea?" Salazar asked, looking at Helga.

"If you've got a problem with me, say it to my face," I said to his face, before looking around at everyone. "And for the record, how many of you have trained an apprentice, or even taught?"

Salazar's lips thinned so much he looked like a snake, while Helga and Rowena both shook their heads.

"Well I have, so I'd say I have experience. Hell, considering what we're trying to make here, a school for all kinds of magic practitioners, I'd say I have the _most _relevant experience," I said.

"You never mentioned you had an apprentice," Helga said.

"It was never relevant before. My request?" I reiterated.

"I should have some appropriate texts," Rowena said. "I'm willing to let you borrow them, assuming you're careful with them."

"Of course," I said with solemnity.

"Then what are you looking for in particular?" she asked.

"Any kind of elementary, introductory magic text, and then low-level texts dealing with disciplines that aren't evocation or thaumaturgy. Those I know rather well, but the others are… outside of my wheelhouse, so to speak. I either don't use them much or at all, so I could use refreshers myself."

"I'll see what I have, then," she said.

"Thank you." I turned to Helga. "That's it, I think. Unless you think we need to cover what happened in Berkhamsted."

"I do," she said. "Now, two weeks ago, Harry here encountered a vampire enmeshed with the Norman nobility."

"A Raith, specifically," I interjected. "The kind that feed on lust."

Helga nodded. "Things didn't end in violence."

"Truly?" Salazar asked with thick sarcasm.

"I resent the implications," I muttered.

"Boys," she said warningly. "In any case, from what Harry told me, the vampire then arranged for Harry to be called to the local lord's castle at Berkhamsted, one Earl Robert, or Count of Mortain."

"Who's that?" Rowena asked.

"The king's half-brother," I said.

"Oh," she said. "Well."

"Yeah," I said. "Along the way, I was attacked by the Red Cap, and some redcaps. Dealt with them all, but people saw me."

"Are you telling the story or am I?" Helga asked archly.

"It's my story," I said.

She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it.

"Anyway, after I arrived, I identified myself as a member of a monastic order, which is… highly debatable as to its veracity, there was some back and forth, my knowledge and possession of magic was established, though I underplayed it a lot, and I got roped into doing a job for the earl, which involved negotiating with a local tribe of centaurs that felt aggrieved at the actions of the people of Berkhamsted. So far, it's looking like a bloodless peace and agreement will be reached." I stretched and cracked my knuckles. "Now, the actual relevant bit is that I have the beginnings of a working relationship with a high-ranked Norman lord, and knowing my luck I'm going to be called in again for help."

"In a broader sense, Harry raised a good point when we talked that the project will go much smoother and be easier to accomplish if we have an understanding with the local lords. Getting permission to move people across shire and national lines, getting any practitioners that manifest in the nobility," she nodded at me for that part, "building a castle or place of residence if we can't secure the Hidden Halls, additional protection from any mobs or attacks, and so on. Now, a related problem is that if we want to cover the isles in full, we're going to have to deal with a number of peoples and a number of regional languages. And I don't think any of us speak any form of Gaelic."

Salazar shook his head, while Rowena hesitated before doing the same. "Not well or adeptly," she added.

"Which is a problem we'll have to fix, along with the relations side. Now, thoughts?" Helga asked, looking primarily at Salazar.

Salazar settled into a gloomy thinking pose, shooting me a quick dark glance, before sighing. "As much as I… dislike the notion, I think it is necessary. Particularly when taken together with some emerging facts."

"Oh?" Helga asked, and I grudgingly turned in my seat to look at Salazar.

"I have heard that King William has a hidden court wizard in his employ, one Armaund Malfoy. According to some of my acquaintances, he is not the most… scrupulous sort. Or one likely to be very interested in helping us out of the goodness of his heart." Salazar snorted for emphasis. "While I question whether Dresden is the best representative to put forward, the simple fact of the matter is that dealing with the Norman nobility is now a necessity, lest the Malfoy complicate things for us."

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence," I said. "Really feeling the love here."

Salazar shot me an irritated look.

"Well, that's not good," Helga said. "Can you find out more about this new wizard and work with Harry on that front?"

Salazar and I both gave each other some very… hesitant looks, and after a brief, and maybe objectively hilarious not-staring contest, he gave an aggrieved sigh. "I will see what I can manage," he said, as if he was about to perform some great labor and we should be thankful for it.

"Fine," I said.

"Great!" Helga said. "Now, the project. Location's still undecided, and lordly permission is a new factor, so let's set aside the issues of where and how to establish ourselves and the matter of students and focus more on how we're going to _find_ said students. Ideas?"

"If our goal is to target every individual with burgeoning magical potential, we will need a very wide net," Salazar said. "And we would need to retain sole control of it lest others abuse it. Involving faeries, other supernatural beings, or God forbid demons is a recipe for disaster. And subordinating the task of searching to individual local talents risks those individuals adopting and hiding those with potential, which will simply propagate the current state of affairs."

"Do you have a solution?" Helga asked.

"A theoretical one, a possibility," he said. "There are ward structures that can detect the presence and use of magic, and furthermore identify the location magic was used and inform the wizard who laid them down of their activation. My personal abode is protected in such a fashion. In theory, a similar model could be applied thaumaturgically on a mass scale, which would serve a variety of purposes, not just in recruitment but also in enforcement of the Laws. The difficulty, of course, is in expanding this structure."

"It's not impossible," I said, letting my distaste for Salazar settled as we moved onto problems of magical theory and practice. "I once made a roughly scale model of a city that I could use for thaumaturgical purposes. Sensing magical residue, tracking people, scrying, so on, all from the safety of my own home, that kind of thing. It was very complex to build and maintain though; I had to properly model all the ley lines, get bits and pieces of every major landmark in order to connect the model to the city, and the first time I used it I almost blew myself up. And maintaining it was a continual chore. And that was just for one city; if we tried to scale it up to a whole island…" I shook my head. "It would require a lot of work."

"There needs to be a reduction in complexity or detail somewhere, if we're to use that model," Rowena said. "It might be simpler to create a general map model, tie it to a detection spell, and then somehow propagate that detection spell through leylines. The isles are riddled with them, after all. Then we would only need to accurately replicate the ley lines on the thaumaturgical model; the island itself would just be a rough guide, a general indicator of location."

"Which is still a stupendously difficult task, getting them all lined up properly and making sure the energy never goes wild," I said. "Especially since there's a bajillion of them around here. And the difficulty of tying a spell to a leyline and getting it to actually propagate and not get instantly washed away."

"Bajillion?" Helga asked.

"It's a word," I said. "And if we were going to do something like that, our best bet would be to anchor the spell around a nexus of leylines so it spread out over a wider area, like-"

"The Hidden Halls, which we don't have access to," Helga finished. "I'm working on that. What about Stonehenge? That's a major nexus."

"Impractical," Salazar said, shaking his head. "We would spend an entire century feuding with local druidic, fae, and other magical groups with interests in Stonehenge, and that's ignoring any mundanes that would take offense. Not to mention that the very act of fortifying or reconstructing the area might damage its suitability as an origin point."

"I can work on the anchoring problem," Rowena said. "And see how practical it is. My tower is built on a ley line."

We all looked at her in slight surprise. "Really?" I asked. "Doesn't feel like it."

"It's not an especially strong one, and part of its power is contained and diffused through the wards on this tower, so you can't feel it from inside or around the tower," Rowena said. "But it's here, and I can experiment with it."

"Safely?" Helga asked.

"Yes," Rowena said.

Helga nodded. "Then, for now, let's go with the ley line idea. Requirements, obstacles, resources, let's start working on those."

Rowena brought out some parchment and started taking notes, and over the course of the next four hours we hashed out a preliminary plan for turning the ley lines of the British Isles into a magical Big Brother. As part of a project with the goal of bringing together entire generations of practitioners and technically indoctrinating them.

Man, on second thought, the Hogwarts project is a real big supervillain scheme. Guess all my detractors were right about me being a budding dark lord.

At the tail end of the meeting, Rowena spent about five minutes trying to find a suitably Frenchy last name for me to adopt that was also, entirely coincidentally, alliterative.

I considered Hamill for a few seconds just because of the connection to Luke Skywalker's actor, but ultimately turned it down.

Salazar left soon after we were done, departing to talk to his 'contacts' or whatever, while Rowena went down a floor into her library to start looking through her collection. I'd planned to join her, but Helga asked me to stay behind a bit, so we ended up alone in Rowena's sitting-slash-meeting room, sat across a table from one another.

"Harry," she began slowly. "How long were you trapped in the Nevernever?"

I gave her a sharp look. "What?"

"There's things about you and your story that don't really fit," she said. "You speak like you've got a wealth of experience, and I believe that, but I also haven't heard of you, at all, before recently. You use phrases and words and references that none of us understand, and apparently you made a deal with the previous Winter Queen. There's other stuff too, but... to me, it looks like… like you're a man out of time. So, how long were you trapped?"

I looked at Helga, surprise working its way through my system, and then chuckled. It figured she'd take all the pieces and come to the most reasonable conclusion under the circumstances, even if it was wrong. That said, her misinterpretation was a good one, and one I decided to stick with then and there.

"Too long," I said quietly.

She shuffled in close to the table and stretched painfully, patting me on my gloved hand. "I'm… sorry. I can't imagine that it's easy, being thrust out of circumstances familiar to you into… something completely different. Do you… I mean… have anyone?"

"No. They're all… dead or gone." I took a deep breath. "I don't want to talk about it."

Helga smiled wanly. "Of course. I'm sorry, I was just… too curious."

"It's fine," I said. "We're wizards- wizard and witch. Curiosity and concern's natural."

"Still," she said, worrying at her lip, before brightening. "Well, we'll just have to fix that. Now come on." She got up, walked around the table, and started tugging me out of my chair. I gave her a bemused look as her five-foot-nothing, barely muscled frame tried to shift me before acquiescing and getting up. She led me downstairs into Rowena's library, which was actually fairly impressive by period standards. A few hundred books by my guess in a variety of topics, from mundane practicalities and theories, to magical texts, and there even seemed to be a shelf devoted to various fictions, plays, and novels. Rowena was going through one of the shelves with her wand, eleven inches, tapering, and I think made of holly, sometimes taking out books and adding them to a pile that floated right next to her.

"You know, Harry," Helga said conversationally as we moved to the center of the library room, "you never elaborated on that story with the vampire. You kissed her and then…?"

Rowena jerked and turned around sharply, the floating stack of books wobbling slightly. She gave me a quick, wide-eyed look, then narrowed her eyes to stare at Helga, who just looked at me, smirking.

I got the feeling I missed a lot of subtext there. I'm just not sure what.

"And then we rocketed out on the blast wave of an explosion, buffered only by a shield spell," I said. "Then I threatened to kill her and her family if she didn't stop playing games. There's really not a lot more to the story."

Helga pouted. "Really? That's as far as it went?"

"I also asked her for some mouthwash to get the funny taste out of my mouth," I added.

Helga's eyes boggled. "Wow. What? You said that? Really?"

"Stick around me long enough, and you'll realize I snark about everyone and everything." I looked her up and down. "Shortstack."

Her eyes narrowed.

* * *

Author's Note: It's not going to happen, I don't think the years line up or that she's that old, but just imagine Harry's face if he ran into a younger Lara. The sheer "of all the fucking people..." reaction.


	17. Chapter 2-II

**August 1069**

"What does this have to do with magic?" Eva asked, looking up from where she was trying, and not really succeeding, at making a campfire.

"Technically? Nothing," I said, sitting nearby, not helping. "It has more to do with character."

After another few seconds of trying and failing to get the tinder to light, she sighed in frustration and sat back.

We were out back behind my house, a few hours past noon. For Eva, the schedule roughly went breakfast and morning with her family, six to ten hours with me on various tasks, and then the rest of the day-slash-evening with her family. That schedule might change in the future, but until I had a better grasp of what she could do, how she took to magic, and how she learned, there wasn't a point in changing it.

That said, so far a good chunk of her tutoring time had been taken up by either various forms of manual labor, learning to read, and the occasional discourse on magical theory.

"What's the first thing I said when I started teaching you?" I asked.

"Youuu… said that magic is about belief," she said slowly, as if not entirely sure.

I nodded. "Ignoring skill, ignoring knowledge, ignoring power, magic, at its core, requires one thing: conviction, or belief. You need to believe, deep inside yourself, that it is _right_ that you have magic. You need to have the will to change the world, and more than that, you need to have the conviction that it is _right_ for you to change the world. If you don't believe in yourself and what you're doing with magic, your performance will suffer, and your gift will wither. Now, can you connect that with what I mean by character?"

Eva looked at me for a few seconds – not in the eyes, that's one of the first things I drilled out of her – before turning back to the cold pile of tinder. "You don't need to believe in something good," she said slowly. "Just… something. Right?"

"Exactly. And not believing in the right things can be dangerous," I said. "Especially because magic is self-reinforcing. Wizards and witches are some of the most stubborn people on the planet, and it's because magic strengthens the beliefs that fuel it. More than other people, your beliefs form the foundation of who and what you are. So, I want you to start with the right foundation."

"Planet?" she asked.

"Oh, we'll get to that, believe me," I said. "But astronomy and geography is a ways off yet."

She nodded. "Alright. But why are you making me start a fire? Do I really need to know that?"

"Practically speaking, you're not always going to have a servant around to do it for you."

"But couldn't I just use magic to do so?" she asked.

I took a deep breath. "Two parts to that. First, probably, but there's no guarantee you'll be able to manage that kind of pyrokinesis. Second, why do you think you should use magic to light a fire?"

Eva blinked. "Because I have it, and it's easier." She frowned. "Is that wrong?"

"If magic is your first resort to a problem, what happens when you... say, run into someone who's rude? Not physically imposing, but just rude. Mocking, verbally offensive, hurtful, whatever you can imagine. Is your reaction to them to ignore them, to fight back verbally, to punch them?" I gave her a look. "Or is it to use magic to get them to stop? To get them to like you?"

Eva blinked, then looked back at the fire. "And… why not?"

It was a genuine question asked out of ignorance, so there was no stern or dry look to give. Instead, I took a few moments to formulate a response.

"Consider the next question just on its own, without any context. If you found yourself in a position to kill your father's liege-lord, who he doesn't like, and nobody would ever know, would you do it?"

"No," she said instantly, which is a good sign.

"Why?"

"Because it's wrong, because God forbids murder."

"And what about just threatening him to favor your father? Assume he would hold to that," I went on.

"I… no. It's wrong," she said with a shake of her head.

"Then what's the difference between threatening someone with a knife to get them to do what you want, and using magic to get them to do what you want?" I asked.

"I… it's worse?" she tried.

"Don't say what you think I want to hear, say what you think. I'm not going to berate you for that," I said.

Eva folded her hands together and rested her chin on them, tapping a foot against the ground as she thought. "It's… similar, but worse, because… because I have to believe in it. Really believe in it. I have to think it's right to get them to do what I want."

I nodded. "Good. Now, there's a lot of nuance to that, which we'll explore over time, but that's the basic idea you have to remember. Your attitudes about magic, about how you use it, will come to inform _everything_ about you. If you come to think that magic is the quickest and easiest solution to your problems, you will default to magic as a solution. And in some situations you'll face as a witch, magic _will _be the only solution, or at least the only viable solution. But not in every circumstance.

"There are seven Laws of Magic. Think of them like the Ten Commandments: statements and judgments that describe what is wrong, what Should Not Be Done. Only the first six are really going to be relevant to you throughout your training, and if you stick things through and decide you want to continue being a witch, we'll cover the seventh near the end. Now, in order, they are: Thou Shalt Not Kill, Thou Shalt Not Transform Others, Thou Shalt Not Invade the Mind of Another, Thou Shalt Not Enthrall Another, Thou Shalt Not Reach Beyond the Borders of Life, and Thou Shalt Not Swim Against the Currents of Time. They're generally self-explanatory, in my opinion, but we'll explore each of them over time."

Eva frowned thoughtfully. "So… don't use magic to harm others?"

"There's more leeway and nuance to that, but that's a good foundation to start off with," I said, nodding. "And not necessarily one you may ever have to deviate from, if you don't choose to get involved in dangerous situations."

"Then… this is teaching me to not rely on magic," she said slowly, turning to the pile of tinder.

"Exactly. Well, among other things," I said.

"What other things?" she asked, turning to look at me.

I arched an eyebrow at her. "You tell me."

She let out a sigh of frustration and turned back to the fire, and I suppressed a grin. Man, I'd forgotten how much fun messing with an apprentice could be.

"You can think aloud, if you want," I added. "In fact, in the early stages, I'd recommend it. It'll help me figure out your logic and if you're missing something, or getting it wrong."

Eva nodded idly. "You didn't tell me how to start a fire, you just told me to do it," she said slowly. "And I don't know how to do that. I've never done it. I…" She turned to look at me. "Do you know how to start a fire?"

"I do," I said.

She gave me a look. "Then can you show me how?"

"If you can express why I went about this in a roundabout fashion, sure," I said.

"To teach me when to ask for help," she said, annoyed.

"There's that. That's most of it, in fact. You are missing one detail though," I said.

Her lips quirked into a frown.

"I lied earlier, about this having nothing to do with magic. Magic is often first expressed in a moment of extreme desire, panic, frustration, something like that." I glanced at the pile of tinder. "I figure lighting a bonfire while I'm around is about the safest way your first time could go."

If looks could kill, hers wouldn't. But it would hurt. 

* * *

Later, once I'd shown her how to start a fire and gotten her to do it a few times, snuffing out the flames before they could really get going each time, we left the impromptu firepit alone and went into my house to get into the literacy training. Before that though, she had questions.

"Will I get a staff?" she asked.

I poured out some watered ale for me and boiled water for her, then gave her her cup. "That depends on you, and it's a bit of a lengthy topic. Sit down."

She nodded and took a seat at the central table, while I went to sit on my bed so I could properly stretch my legs. "Now, there are two… axes, let's call them, to this question. Wand versus staff, and single focus versus multi-foci. Regarding the first, wands and staves serve essentially the same purpose. They are general purpose foci that wizards and witches use to help control and focus their magic. Contrary to what you may hear later on, there is no qualitative difference between the two. A staff will perform as well as a wand when it comes to magic. The real trade-offs between the two have nothing to do with magic. Wands are smaller, somewhat easier to construct, more maneuverable, and definitely easier to hide. Staves are larger, take more wood and time to make, and you can't really hide them, but if I need to club a ghoul over the head and the only thing I have is a wand, I'm shit out of luck."

Eva gave me a surprised look.

"Right, vulgarity. A little surprised that's shocking to you, but alright," I said. "Now, for me, the fact that a staff is conspicuous is completely meaningless. I'm a stupendously tall, scarred man with a weird sense of fashion and around whom the temperature is perpetually off. There is no situation in which I will not stand out as an outsider. In your case, though, depending on how your magic affects your surroundings, you could reasonably pass as just a regular person, so the notability and connotations of a staff are something you should consider. Also, if you don't expect to need to defend yourself at any moment, then a staff is even less important.

"As to the second axis, it's the magically relevant one. Wizards that use wands tend to, from what I've observed, use wands for everything. They have the one focus, and that's it. They don't really specialize. I, meanwhile, currently have three foci. My staff, for general use. My shield bracelet," I rolled back my sleeve and showed it off to her, "for defense, and my blasting rod," I pulled back my duster and took out something that only a blind man could mistake for a wand, "for fire magic."

"What about your sword?" she asked.

"It's a sword. I don't use it to do magic," I replied. "Getting back to the topic, I have one general focus, and two specialized foci. To preempt your question about why people prefer to use only one focus and not specialize, the answer is that there's some debate as to the actual efficacy of specialized foci, that they don't actually provide any additional benefit over a general focus."

"But, doesn't that… not make sense? You don't use a sword as a table knife, so…"

I smiled. "What's the foundational rule of magic?"

Eva made an 'oh' face. "Magic is fueled by belief." She frowned thoughtfully. "So because they think it doesn't have any effect, it doesn't?"

"Maybe. Or maybe they're right independent of that. Or maybe, because that's the common consensus, it empowers wands to make them stronger generalists." I frowned thoughtfully myself. "There's a term for that, I'm just not sure…" I winced as pain lanced through my head. "Mythopoeia. Mythopoeia. That's the word. The making of myths, or the power of belief. If enough people believe in something strongly enough, then that thing becomes… more true, if that makes sense."

Eva shook her head.

"You'll wrap your head around it," I said. "Though either way, you getting a wand or a staff is a ways off. At least six months, I figure."

"So long?" she asked, her tone vaguely forlorn.

I chuckled. "Eva, an apprenticeship in magic is not a short thing. It took me eight years until I was deemed ready. There were some extenuating circumstances there, me starting earlier than you, a change in masters, some... other reasons, but that should still give you some idea of just how long it takes to actually get proficient. And there are a lot of basics we need to get through before you should even start worrying about foci." I got up off the bed. "Also, I'll probably need that long to convince your parents anyway."

She frowned. "Why? Convince them of what?"

"Well, once I figured you were ready to start making foci, I'd take you on a field trip to London to get the materials. And I am not looking forward to the conversation wherein I'll have to convince your father to let you leave with me for at least a week. Now, enough talk. Reading time."

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, I know the general definition of mythopoeia doesn't really fit what Harry described. I'm leaning more on the Elder Scrolls side of it, since it has a significant belief-influences-reality bent to its overall lore.


	18. Chapter 2-III

**September 1069**

The rest of the month was fairly uneventful. Days passed, training happened, and I took a week off to head into London to pick up new tools. The money I had was burning a hole in my pocket, and there were gaps in both my lab setup and my everyday equipment that I felt needed filling.

They were as follows: a set of silver rings, which took up a significant chunk of cash, sized to fit my fingers, to be turned into kinetic force rings; a whole pile of parchment and some ink pots, both for my own purposes and so Eva could practice writing; and the rest of the cash, which hadn't gone quite as far as I'd hoped, was put towards multiple iron and silver storage containers that I'd be turning into mini magical freezers for whenever I wanted to preserve something. I'd been hoping to snag some silver lab tools and/or alchemical apparatus, but those all turned out to be out of my price range after all was said, done, and bought.

I also did some snooping around to see if I could find the Malfoy, or at least where he lived, but that didn't pan out either.

Now, what happened when I came _back_ from London was far more interesting. 

* * *

In what I hoped would not become a routine occurrence, shortly after I arrived in Dorham Eadric's fyrd… men? Sure, fyrdmen, came by to take me to his family manor, before I could start settling in or even unpacking Shadowfax's saddlebags. Then, after that, I was bundled into his dining room, which apparently doubled as a meeting room when the table wasn't being used for food.

"You got a letter," I said slowly, eyeing Eadric and the scroll he was almost crumpling in his hand.

"Aye," Eadric said, annoyed.

Actually, you know what, considering 'annoyed', 'dour', 'sour', and so on is basically Eadric's default state, I don't think there's any benefit in me adding those descriptors anymore. It's more noteworthy when he's _not_ like that.

"A rider came by three days ago. Tried to deliver it to you, then dumped it on me when he found out you were gone." He held the scroll out to me, and I took it. I turned it around to where one end met the furl, and checked the wax seal holding it shut. It had the weird dog-bird-dragon thing-creature that was Robert's heraldry, so that meant it was probably from him. I carefully broke the seal, then unfurled the scroll and started reading the French written there.

"Blah blah blah greetings and introductions, yadda yadda yadda summons to court…" I trailed off as I reached the end of the letter. "Aaand a job offer." I set the scroll down. "Huh."

I mean, it wasn't a complete surprise, but… well, I guess I should have expected him a lot more. Back home, Marcone was always trying to use and recruit me, and Robert was, okay, actually barely anything like Marcone, but.

Ugh, whatever. Point is I really should've expected this.

Back in the moment, Eadric gave me a strange look, probably because of my summarizing, and I gave him a challenging look back. After a few moments, he shook his head and muttered something under his breath.

"Though maybe job ultimatum is a better way to put it," I said after I judged the awkward silence had gone on long enough. "The wording's certainly strong enough for it."

Eadric eadric'ed. "What does that mean for you?" he asked.

I furled the scroll back up, picked it up, and started tapping one end against the table. "Well, I have no choice but to accept. Which means I'll be moving to Berkhamsted, at least, and may be following him around in general. Which does, I assume, pose a few problems for you."

Eadric eadric'ed harder. "Potentially."

"Well…" I drawled. "I'm pretty sure I know the problem, and regarding Eva's education, you've got two options. I could try and convince Rowena to take Eva on, though she didn't seem that interested when I broached the topic, or Eva comes with me in some fashion. Maybe on a rotating schedule, maybe not, I don't know; that's up to you and your family. Now, if Tim and the others he was with hadn't met or seen Eva, I don't think there would have been a big issue with pretending Eva was my niece or distant cousin or something similar. As is stands though…" I sucked in a breath through my teeth. "I could, maybe, possibly prepare an enchantment that would make her look like someone else. But it would be fiddly, and risky, and require a good amount of lying – and that's ignoring the potential fallout if the deception fails."

Eadric seemed to consider that for a few moments, then gave a kind of defeated sigh and shook his head. "No, no." He seemed on the verge of saying something, then stopped, falling into a broody, eadric-y silence, before eventually sighing again. "I think it may be best if she and Cuthbert accompany you to court."

I blinked a few times, somewhere between three and five. Then tried cleaning my ears out with my fingers. Finally I blinked again and looked at Eadric.

"I'm sorry, did I hear you right? Did you just propose sending your kids off with me as a chaperone?" I asked, my tone a little incredulous.

"Yes," Eadric said eadric-ly.

On a side note, I'm really starting to warm up to the idea of using eadric as both a verb and an adjective. It's wonderfully multi-purpose.

Anyway, I blinked again.

"Huh," I said. "Uhm. You realize Cuthbert's probably not going to listen to me, right? He doesn't seem to like me. At all. So if you're expecting me to run herd on him…"

Eadric grunted. "I know. But he's a man now, he doesn't need his hand held or his road paved. Just… make sure he is not tricked or outmaneuvered."

Easier said than done considering Lucille's presence. And Tim's. And Eva's apparent crush on Tim. God, this was going to suck. Riding herd on one teenager is hard enough. Two, including one inclined to be rebellious?

I'm actually feeling the _slightest sliver_ of sympathy for my first master DuMorne. He was a real rat bastard and deserved everything that happened to him, but dealing with me and Elaine could not have been easy.

I sighed and rubbed my temples. "Why don't you have this conversation with your wife first?"

Eadric eadric'ed. "They're my children."

I sighed, then repeated, slower and more forcefully, "Why don't you have this conversation with your wife first?"

Eadric eadric'ed some more, I gave him a meaningful look, then he eadric'ed back and stood up and went to the door. Or a door, I guess; there were two doors in the dining room. He opened it, I saw Hilda and Eva standing a little ways down the hallway, and then my view was obstructed by Eadric, who started talking to Hilda. About ten seconds later, Eva squeezed past her father and practically burst into the dining room and leapt into a chair, almost buzzing with nervous energy.

I arched an eyebrow at her.

She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, closed it again, adopted a thoughtful, frowning, thinking expression, held that for about fifteen seconds, went to say something, stopped, went to say something again, stopped again, thought some more, blushed for some reason, and then blurted out, all in a rush, "IthinkIdidmagic."

I blinked. "Okay. First. Breathe. In." I looked at her, then repeated more forcefully, "_In_."

She breathed in, and I waited for a few seconds.

"Now out."

She breathed out.

"Now repeat a few times," I said.

She did so, and that seemed to calm her down a bit.

"Now, what happened?" I asked.

She blushed again, then shook herself and schooled her expression. "Some of my… clothes… transformed, or changed, or… became different. For a bit."

I arched an eyebrow again. "Okaaayy… define different."

"Some of the wool… turned into leather? At least I think it was leather," she said.

The other eyebrow joined the first. "Like, permanently?" I asked.

"No, it… once I took it off, it… mostly went back to normal, after a little while. It still feels a bit harder than before, but it's back to being wool."

"And what were you doing when that happened?" I asked.

"Nothing," Eva said, shaking her head. "I wasn't doing anything, it just happened."

"Uhuh. I assume you've continued the meditation and breathing exercises I assigned?" I asked.

She nodded.

"Show me."

She closed her eyes and set her hands on the table, palms up. Slowly, over the course of seconds, she relaxed, and then started breathing deeply in and out, steadily, rhythmically, with long pauses in between.

The basic goal of the exercise was to get her to relax and focus on breathing, with a side aspect of trying to mentally visualize and line it up with the way magic circulated through the body. In through the left hand on the intake, out through the right hand on the outtake. As she did so, I stretched out my arcane senses, getting a feel for how the magic flowed in the room, and in particular the way Eva was starting to channel it.

"Alright," I said. "You can stop."

Eva let out a long sigh and then opened her eyes, shaking her head a bit.

"So, I don't think you actually cast any spells," I said. "Because if you did, you'd know. Instead, what I think happened is that your gift became active. You've started actually channeling, holding, and feeling magical energy, and so you've kind of… woken up. Not enough to cast spells, probably, but enough to start externalizing your inner conflict. And apparently, it's doing that by changing your clothes." I frowned. "Drastically so."

Eva seemed disappointed, and a little conflicted.

"Though I guess we can test that," I said, and again, there was the blush. What kind of clothing malfunction happened? "The externalization, the magical field, gets stronger when you're feeling strong emotion, when you're not relaxed, when you're keyed up. So, I'd like you to close your eyes again."

She did so.

"Look back over your memories and try and find your most emotional one. Happy, sad, angry, frustrated, whatever. Just your strongest one. Tell me when you've found it," I said.

About a minute passed in silence, broken only by the sound of breathing, before she gave a shallow nod.

"Alright. Now, imagine you were back there. Recall the smells, the sounds, the sights. Recall what you were doing, what anyone else was doing. Put yourself in that moment." I spoke in the calm, measured tone a hypnotist might use, aiming to enhance her concentration. I didn't pay attention to her expression, or her breathing, instead focusing on the feel of the surrounding magic and the non-torso parts of her clothes. As the relative silence stretched on, I could feel the air grow tighter, more agitated. The magic Eva was emitting was wilder, charged with emotional energy, and it seeped into the air, and parts of it were in turn absorbed and magnified again.

Eva was wearing a fairly plain brown dress. Not the kind you'd see on someone working in the field, but not fancy or pretty either. It was a simple, utilitarian day dress for someone unconcerned with their looks. But part of it, particularly the right shoulder area, was starting to blur. Not resolving into anything quite yet, but obviously changing.

That was very, very interesting, and not what I expected. What I'd expected was, well, this next part's going to sound a little bit sexist, but something like what Rowena had. A splotch, discolorations, warts, some apparent physical change, something that made her _look_ different.

Well, something was changing, but it wasn't her appearance.

A few seconds later the silence was violently disturbed as the door sharply opened, almost with a bang, and Eadric strode in. The sound startled Eva and broke her concentration, causing her to yelp. As she did so, the magic around her shifted and writhed almost explosively, and the small, blurring patch around her right shoulder expanded and grew and morphed in the blink of an eye.

Literally. I blinked. So did Eadric. So did Hilda, when she hurried into the room a second later.

The right shoulder of Eva's dress was no longer a plain, brown, probably woolen fabric. Instead, it was a giant, puffy, frilly, rainbow-colored monstrosity of a crime against fashion. It looked like someone took the giant pauldron off a Space Marine and Disney Princess-ified it.

"…well," I finally said. "I guess you have a gift for Transfiguration."


	19. Chapter 2-IV

**September 1069**

I left the dining room with Eadric, leaving Hilda and Eva to get her out of… that and hopefully get it reverted. While that was going on, I turned and looked down at Eadric, who looked confused more than eadriced.

"Is that always going to happen to her?" he finally asked, after about half a minute of silence.

I clicked my tongue. "Well, probably not as extreme, there were a few factors to… that, but in general, yes. It looks like transformation of her surroundings is going to be a constant around her. But outside of moments of surprise and panic when she's wielding magic, it's probably going to be more subtle, creeping. The real test is going to be if it affects everything else around her, and not just her clothes." I sighed. "It's definitely going to be harder to hide her gift though. I think… ugh. If she had a talent for glamours or the better part of a year's training, I might have revisited the disguise-her-as-my-niece idea. As it stands…" I ran a hand through my hair. "I think she'll need a large, cycling wardrobe to stave off the effects. Which means money."

Eadric was silent for a few moments, then sighed. "I'll speak with my wife, and see what we can manage. For her and Cuthbert." He pursed his lips, and shot me glance. "We don't particularly have a sizable treasury."

I could almost hear the silent 'anymore.' Though, if Hilda had felt comfortable enough paying me the sum that she did, and had managed to convince Eadric of it, then they clearly weren't that badly off.

I didn't point that out though. Instead, I just nodded. "The letter did say I was expected to respond within the week. Which, assuming the three days have bit into that, and the travel time, means I've got about half that."

Eadric nodded. "Two days. We'll be ready in two days."

Two days turned out to be a timely estimate, though for different reasons than expected. Chiefly because at that time another messenger appeared, this time without a letter, and told Eadric to muster his fyrd and join Robert in driving off some raiding Danes.

So that changed things.

In the end, after another day of organizing, scrambling, and deciding-not-to-travel-at-night-ing, two dozen footmen and four riders – Eadric, Cuthbert, me, and Eva, the latter on a simple riding horse – set out from Eadric's manor towards Berkhamsted. My knowledge of feudal obligations and laws was fuzzy, but I was pretty sure Eadric was bringing more men than he strictly had to. I guess he disliked the Danes more than he disliked obeying a Norman.

Also, I felt a lot safer traveling alongside a large group than I did a small one. On my own, I could put up rather more dangerous and destructive wards to keep myself safe. As part of a large group, there was enough concentration of force to scare off most supernatural predators. Small groups though, those had an unfortunate tendency of disappearing. Like what may have happened with the redcaps if the things had been just a little bit quicker to mob me.

I'll skip over the trip there. It really wasn't interesting.

When we arrived at Berkhamsted I saw that the field out to the west, past the moat that surrounded the town, a small town of tents had cropped up. As Eadric peeled our convoy off in their direction, I counted heads and tents and came up with a rough figure of two to three hundred. Small numbers, but if this was just the locally sourced host that was going to join a larger force then that made sense.

Fortunately, it looked like the man Robert had put in charge of the camp – a five-ten man with a moustache so puffy it almost looked like a tail – knew enough English to get by. There was some posturing and grumbling and staring and a little eadricing, but in the end things were sorted out and all but two of Eadric's men were sent off to the mustering field. Then the rest of us turned and proceeded into town. We made our way over the moat, through the town gates, through the streets, through the castle gates, and finally dismounted in the courtyard.

Robert wasn't holding court at the time, so rather than going through the rigamarole of introducing himself and his kids and whatnot, Eadric was instead directed to a set of guest rooms by the steward and told him that Robert would get to him either by tonight or the war council, whichever came first. Eadric eadriced in response, probably weighing the potential snub of not being acknowledged with the desire to not interact with Robert more than he had to.

I didn't get that benefit. No, I was packed off to meet the earl right away and with haste.

* * *

The first sign I had that this was going to be a FUN conversation was that John wasn't present in the small side room I'd been bundled into. Robert was, however.

"Earl Robert," I said carefully, nodding my head to him. See? I could do diplomacy. Sometimes. A little.

"Jedi," less funny when it comes from a high-ranking nobleman speaking to you in private in a small room, "take a seat."

The room was fairly small, with a single round table, two chairs, an open window, and a platter topped with a goblet and some wine. A leisure room of some kind, at my guess. One chair was occupied by the aforementioned Robert, so I slid the other one a little away and sat down.

"Where's John?" I asked.

"In his chapel," Robert said distractedly, swirling around a mostly empty goblet of wine.

I nodded, though I wasn't exactly happy to hear that. Talking to Robert with John around seemed a good way of staving off any flareups of stupid pride.

"The Kingswood arrangement?" I probed.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, that. I brought it before Odo." He paused then, to see if I recognized the name. I didn't. "Do you know who he is?"

"No."

"He's my brother. The regent of England, when the king is back home. At least, when Odo isn't there as well. He likely would have agreed, but then King William came back the next day, and I put the proposal before him. He seemed… pleased at the offering," he said.

"So everything's fine? The agreement's good?"

"Yes, yes. We'll go tell the centaurs of that today, time allowing." He lapsed into silence, and I figured there was no point in prodding him further on this subject. It wasn't like I had much personal investment in it.

"I take it you read my letter?" he asked.

I bit down a response along the lines of 'did you actually write it' and just nodded. "You want me to be your advisor and troublesh..tabber for weird shit."

Robert gave me a look, then, after a few seconds, asked, "Troublestabber?"

"If there's trouble, I stab it. Metaphorically, anyway. I don't use my sword all that often."

Robert continued giving me a look, then shook his head. "Yes, that, in… in short."

"Alright. But I've got some conditions," I said.

The look Robert gave me this time was less confused 'what the fuck' and more imperious 'what the fuck.'

"Let's make this clear right off the bat: you don't have any legal authority over me," I said. "I'm not a part of your feudal structure, I'm not a citizen or a serf, I'm not English, I'm not Norman, nothing. I'm subject to the laws of the land I'm in, obviously, but that's different. If we have a serious enough disagreement, I can and will leave."

Robert eadriced for a bit, and so I shrugged and moved to get up. While starting over after blowing off Robert would be a problem, it wasn't the end of the world, and I wasn't willing to subordinate myself like that to anyone. The last time I had gone that far, I'd also arranged my own murder. My own suicide? Murder-suicide? Something like that.

"Fine," Robert finally grumbled, and I sat back down. "Is that all?"

"That's the most important point. The rest are details, some large, some small," I said. "Allow me to guess your next request: you want me to accompany you against the Danes."

Robert nodded.

"That's not happening," I said. "Explaining why would be easier if John was around, but he isn't, so I'll explain, and you can check with him after." I stretched out my arms. "The Bible goes to… some lengths to describe magic, in various contexts, punishments, so on. The relevant part here is in the second book of the… Septuagint, Exodus. Specifically, Exodus twenty-two-eighteen."

I'd never actually read the Bible in full, or even in large part, and I'd definitely never read a Latin version, so my quoting of the Bible was accompanied by a twinge of pain and a headache. That said, Exodus 22:18 was something I was _keenly_ familiar with, considering how it got bandied about in the future.

"_Maleficos non patieris vivere_," I quoted. "Roughly, it means 'thou shalt not suffer the maleficos to live.' There are different ways to translate maleficos, you can check with your chaplain later, but they're all variations on 'someone who uses magic for evil.'" I looked at Robert. "And murder is definitely a sin, doubly so with magic.

"Now, that line is fuzzier when it comes to faeries and other supernatural beings, but when it comes to humans there is no debate. Using magic to kill is flatly wrong. Even in the context of self-defense it's a stretch." Something which I wasn't sure how to feel about, personally. Seeing as how I'd be quite headless otherwise, I was very attached to it being a valid defense. On the other hand, self-defense was too easy to stretch, really, and using it as an excuse to kill was a habit I very much did not want to develop. Generally, avoiding situations where I might be faced with that quandary seemed the better course of action.

"And if the Danes have magic of their own?" Robert asked.

I snorted. I couldn't help myself. "Yes, because it's so likely battle magic will be deployed here and now, by a group of opportunistic raiders, rather than a few years earlier in the succession crisis where it would have had a bigger impact." I gave Robert a flat look. "Did you and your king use any wizards, witches, or practitioners when conquering England? Did Harold Godwinson when defending it?"

Robert scowled.

"Didn't think so," I said. "Now, if I had reason to believe magic was going to be used against you, then I'd help. But I don't, and I'm not interested in getting anywhere near a battlefield again."

Robert arched an eyebrow. "Again," he noted.

I nodded, and offered no further comment.

"Hmph. And what else will you not do?" he asked.

"I won't manipulate people with magic, affecting minds and whatnot – something I think you'll have no problem with."

Robert scowled and grunted.

"No raising the dead, not that I'm capable of that anyway," I said.

Though I technically could, if I really, really, _really_ needed to. I did have the Dummy's Guide to Grand Necromancy stuck in my head, after all.

"No love potions," I added. "And no alchemy or counterfeiting or forgery or anything else like that."

Robert grunted again, though it was less displeased and more perfunctory. "Is that all?" he asked, his tone of voice slightly dry.

"No. I also want a house," I said.

That drew a blink from Robert. "A what?"

"A house. In town. That's all my own. I'm not going to live or work in the castle," I said.

Robert blinked, then shook his head. "You can work that out with my steward. Anything else?"

There were a lot of little things I wanted, admittedly, including payment and/or a stipend. But I didn't feel like pushing too hard right then.

Also, if I pushed the topic of renumeration when John was around, I figured I could get his support.  


* * *

Author's Note: I was tempted to make a 'and a partridge in a pear tree' quip, but I don't think the joke would've landed very well.


	20. Chapter 2-V

**September 1069**

Apparently, 'time allowing' meant ten minutes to check and twenty minutes to get ready, because half an hour later I was once again in the middle of a group of armed men as we headed off to the forest. Robert was there, and Tim, and a few familiar faces whose names I did not know.

I wonder what they thought about all this.

We went into the woods, kept walking, kept walking, kept walking, and then eventually ran into the centaurs again in their human glamour. I went forward with Robert, Roland went forth with another centaur, and halfway to the halfway point Robert started to draw a scroll from a pouch at his waist and paused.

"Can they read?" he asked quietly.

Great question to be asking _then_ of all times. Really helped build my confidence in Robert.

"We'll find out," I said dryly, then kept moving.

We met in the middle and looked up at Roland, who looked down at the scroll in Robert's hands. "And what is that?" the centaur asked.

"The writ and agreement declaring Berkhamsted Forest a Kingswood with its own order of foresters," Robert said gruffly.

Roland gave him a quick glance, then looked my way. "Read it aloud, please."

Guess that answered that question.

Ignoring Robert's look of irritation, I carefully took the scroll from him, unfurled it, cleared my throat, and started reading. I'll spare you the legalese and just summarize: the forest is a chartered Kingswood, the new Berkhamsted Foresters have the responsibility of looking after the woods, the warden of the forest is elected by the foresters, et cetera et cetera. Dry stuff, really. All in French, too. It took me a few minutes to get through it, at which point Roland stared off into the distance for a few minutes, occasionally asking me to repeat a segment to make sure he heard it right. Finally, after about seven minutes of this, Roland finally, grudgingly, nodded.

"Very well. The terms of the agreement are acceptable. Our chosen representative will present himself to you within the month."

"Have him introduce himself as the warden of the forest," Robert said gruffly, taking the scroll back and stuffing it back in the pouch.

And that was that. No pleasantries, no niceties, just business. Just get in, talk, and get out.

Once we were out of the woods and heading back to town, Tim sidled up to me, not too close but still kind of infringing on my personal space, and asked, "Say, Sir Harry, could I treat you to a drink? I didn't get the opportunity last time."

I eyed Tim kind of warily, wondering what his goal here was, but ultimately nodded. I figured it was a roundabout way of getting me somewhere private-ish so we could talk, which I wasn't really against. It was a good opportunity to set ground rules, in any case.

"Still not a knight, but sure," I said. "Now?"

"And why not?" Tim asked with a shrug.

I glanced at Robert, who gave a dismissive shrug after a few moments. I completed the trifecta of shrugging, then nodded to Tim. We continued as a group all the way to the town gates, and it was only once we were in Berkhamsted proper that Tim and I split off from the rest. The moment we were mostly alone, save the other people on the street, I lowered my voice and asked, "So, is this an actual barhopping invitation, or is there some ulterior motive?"

"My sister should be present in the tavern," he said. "If that's alright?"

Going to meet a pair of Raiths at a chosen venue of their choice. Gee, what a great idea. Still, I'd taken to packing a twig enchanted with the mental influence breaking spell I'd used when I'd first met Tim, and I had all of my foci on me, so it wasn't like I was going unprepared.

"Do I have your word that we're just going to talk and there will be no duplicity, or coercion?" I asked.

"You have my word," Tim said.

I eyed him, nodded, and kept following him. The worth of one's word was pretty important in the supernatural scene. People with power and opportunity were sometimes less than interested in keeping their word, but I didn't think Tim and Lucille were loaded enough to survive the consequences of screwing me over in this way, unlike Ortega, or Nicodemus, or…

Huh. Come to think of it, people that broke their word and screwed me over never really ended up profiting from it. I mean, it sucked in the moment, but… huh.

Anyway. Tim led me to an upscale-looking wooden tavern-slash-restaurant kind of place, the inside of which was well lit and arranged in an interesting way: the left side was fairly open and laid out in the standard format of round tables surrounded by chairs spaced out to be comfortable for everyone, while the right side was a more me-modern array of booths, separated from the rest of the tavern by curtains.

Yeah. This was definitely a place I couldn't afford.

"Nice digs," I said, taking a look around.

"Privacy is a service," Tim said, leading me towards the booth at the back, which had one knight-looking guy standing outside it. His appearance made me frown; the haggard face, vaguely vacuous look, and less than fluid reactions all made me peg him as a thrall. Wonderful third attempt at a first impression; these vampires were just killing it.

The knight-guy pulled back the curtain at a nod from Tim, revealing a Lucille. The succubus was wearing fairly bulky clothes, not exactly standard court dress, replete with large hood. Her 'stealth' outfit, presumably. Kind of obvious, but I guess a necessity when it came to vampires.

I slid in across from her and went all the way to the end of the booth, so as to have the most warning and reaction time if anything was attempted. My staff I rested against the wall, held in the crook of my arm with the butt pressed against my boot, while my sword just hung kind of awkwardly off my waist. My blasting rod stayed in my duster.

"Nice thrall," I said dryly as I got as comfortable as I could, "real great advertisement for the benefits of working with you. You should teach marketing classes."

Lucille's expression twisted with irritation, and I could hear Tim sigh as he slid in next to his sister.

"Renault is a trusted aide," she said, her voice steady and calm.

"Suuure," I drawled. "Him and how many others?"

Weird thing was, despite the obvious wrongness and horror of the act, it was also reassuring, somewhat. It told me I had an information advantage on the siblings, that they weren't all that experienced or good at the subtle manipulations thing as Lara had been, or even her father. It did mean things were more likely to fall apart, but I stood a better chance of weathering the aftermath if they did.

"Are you actually interesting in talking, wizard, or are you just here to be annoying?" she said, her tone growing slightly terse.

"I'm interested in talking, but less so every time you show you're not that different from the rest of your extended family," I said. "So here's the deal. If you don't want to be annoyed by me any longer, then you stay out of my way and keep yourselves restrained, and we never interact again. Or you just leave, and get the same result. That's option one. Now, option two, where you get my help with whatever schemes you might be planning… yeah, that's going to involve a lot of me 'annoying' you."

Lucille folded her hands together, and almost seemed to be clenching them. She took a small, almost imperceptible breath, and then stared at me.

"How do you know so much?" she asked.

I tapped the fingers of my left hand against the table, since my right was in one of my pockets, brushing the twig I'd enchanted. Right now, with her hood down, Lucille just looked shockingly beautiful, not sex-idol gorgeous like normal Lara or practically irresistible goddess-in-human-flesh like Lara drawing on her Hunger. Lucille's eyes were also fairly normal looking, grayish eyes flecked with blue, in a kind of inverse to her brother's. So, either Lucille wasn't drawing on her Hunger at all at the time, or was only drawing a little. Either way, it didn't have much effect on me. Collectively, Lara, Mab, and Lash had set pretty high bars for seductresses, and Lucille just didn't measure up.

Getting back on track though, I considered how to answer her. And really, it came down to just one question: was I interested in an attempt at good faith cooperation? Or did I just want a détente where they stayed out of my way?

In the end, I sighed. "One of your kin was a close friend of mine. You could even call him family." Hah. "He taught me a lot about the inner workings of the White Court. Your traditions, how you operate, how it feels."

"And what made him so different, that you would call him family and insult us?" she asked.

"He didn't make or use thralls, for one," I said. Though Justine was sort of debatable. The age difference was wide enough to make things weird, and Justine's attachment to Thomas had been, let's call it _intense_, but love had bloomed there. True, genuine love, enough to burn him. And that can't be manufactured.

"He also didn't feed in your usual, ravaging fashion," I went on, "and he didn't try to manipulate me." Well, a little at the start, more when he tried to rope me into getting rid of his father for him, but I guess I can't really blame him for that last bit, especially considering the then Lord Raith had killed our mother. Really, it was half-revenge at that point.

"How did he manage that?" Tim asked, sounding somewhat curious.

"He worked as a barber to rich women," I said.

Yeah, that's the sum total of the gay barber story.

Tim's face, once he processed what I said, looked like a cartwheel that had hit a rock and stopped moving properly, repeatedly trying to get over it and failing. Lucille looked only moderately less surprised.

"That's… certainly unique," Tim finally said.

I grunted, then looked at the curtain. "So, are you actually going to order drinks?" I asked.

"I though it might be more appreciated as a closing argument rather than an opening one," Tim said, glancing at his sister. She kept staring at me, then momentarily turned her head to him and nodded. He got up, pushed back the curtain, and left to talk with the bartender – a woman, I'd noticed on the way in – leaving me alone with Lucille.

"Since you seem to be the brains of this operation, I'm going to repeat myself for the third and last time. I don't like the White Court. I've had bad experiences with them in general. If you're attached to your lifestyle and your way of doing things, the best you can hope for with me is a fragile truce, and that involves you not stepping out of line. If you actually want my help, that's going to involve compromises, on your end."

For a moment, Lucille's ingenue impression… didn't slip, exactly. It wasn't like she made a mistake, or was caught off guard by my statement. Instead, it was more like her real emotions showed through for a brief moment. Frustration, irritation, annoyance, and the tiniest, _tiniest_ bit of contempt.

Tim came back soon after with a platter full of drinks, one for all of us. I took one at random and then, just to be sure, muttered, "_Devocatus_," under my breath.

There isn't really a way to pull off a Detect Poison spell – or if there is, I don't know it. The range of harmful chemicals, bacteria, parasites, and so on is just so long and varied that making a spell that can detect even a useful fraction of that range is pretty difficult. I could make spells to determine some of the most common forms of poison, like arsenic and cyanide and nightshade, but that's about it. Maybe someone with a lesser, more simplistic understanding of the world could manifest an approximation of a Detect Poison spell, but I couldn't.

What I could do, though, was make a Detect Alcohol spell, with some extra additions. Or, rather, Detect the Composition of Alcohol. If things looked right: water, alcohol, right proportions, so on, then it was good. If something else was there in more-than-minuscule quantities, I could tell.

The beer was clean though, if heavier on the alcohol content, so I took a sip. For maybe the first fucking time, my aura spiked cold rather than hot, which meant the beer actually tasted good. Which was great, because it was actually really good beer.

"What are your terms, wizard?" Lucille asked after a long silence.

"For working together?" I clarified.

She nodded.

"Cut it out with the thralls, wean off the ones you have now." I took another sip. "I'd prefer it if you cut it out with the sex-feeding entirely, but acknowledge that may not exactly be practical or safe. You never use your allure on me, or anyone else. It's not like you need it. You don't lie to me, or try to control me. You tell me what you're doing here, in England. And in return, I help you."

"Ah. How generous," Lucille said blandly.

I nodded, then sighed. "Yeah. I know." I drummed my fingers against the side of my flagon. "I've got strong beliefs and principles, and no interest in compromising on them. The price of my assistance is a similar adherence. But I don't trust you, and you don't trust me. For good reason on my end, and presumably good reason on your end, too. I mean, you don't know me, after all."

"Is this going somewhere?" she asked. "Or are you just wasting time stating the obvious?"

Well, that was different. And indicative of the fact that she was almost checking out of the conversation. Not that I could really blame her; I probably would feel the same way when presented with an ultimatum like that.

It's just… I'm so fucking tired of compromising and tolerating.

"Do you know… what a soulgaze is?" I asked. Originally, I started out asking 'why I've never looked you in the eyes' as a lead-in, but that question might have led them to suspect Elfleda in some fashion, so I had to pivot on the spot.

"No," she said.

"It's one of the powers that marks a wizard, or a witch. When they look into someone else's eyes, there's a connection. A bridge. The wizard looks upon the other's soul, and vice versa." I clicked my teeth at the Latin vernacular that they probably didn't recognize and corrected, "Uh, the reverse. It shows the truth of a person."

Lucille arched an eyebrow.

"If you want a gesture of trust, on both our ends, we can have one right now. It only takes a few seconds. We just look into each other's eyes, and that's it. But you don't forget what you see in a soulgaze. Ever. It sticks with you." I brought my flagon to my lips and drank deeply. There are some things a person should just never See, with the Sight or through a soulgaze. Like a naagloshi. "And speaking bluntly, I don't think my soul's a very nice place. People have never reacted well to seeing it, and that was before the latest mountains of shit that were piled on me. If you do it, it's probably going to scar you. But if you want a gesture of my commitment, of my goodwill, of the extent I'll go to back you up if you're genuine, and the lengths I'll go to if you aren't…" I shrugged.

Lucille didn't respond, verbally at least. She just kept staring at me, her posture deceptively relaxed. Tim was less circumspect about it; while he wasn't outright tensing, I could tell he was ready in the event anything went down. Frankly, so was I. This meeting had quickly gone sideways, and there was a nonzero chance I'd add to my tally of arsons.

After about half a minute of silent staring, her eyes roaming over my face and posture, Lucille sat back and slowly lifted her eyes to look into mine.

I took a deep breath. "Alright," I said. Then I reciprocated.

The soulgaze started a few seconds later.

* * *

Author's Note: This wasn't exactly where I expected this part to go, the soulgaze was originally planned for much, much later, but… well, these things happened. Characters talk, they clash, and plans get spoiled.


	21. Chapter 2-VI

**September 1069**

What you see in a soulgaze varies from person to person – in both directions. When I soulgazed Marcone, I didn't see a person, or a scene. I just saw a map of sorts, an outline of his personality. When I soulgazed Molly, I saw possibilities, ways her life could go. In the case of my brother, him grappling with his Hunger through a mirror. For others, it was their history, or a room important to them, or some other metaphor for their mind. There was never any real consistency.

In Lucille's case, I saw a corpse.

He was young, male, late teens, seventeen by my guess. He was handsome, for the most part. Not a visage I'd see on a marble statue, but definitely on the upper end of attractive. Short blond hair, brown eyes, the musculature of someone that physically labored or fought. His expression was one of ecstasy blending with horror, his eyes cold and empty.

I followed his dead-eyed gaze and found basically what I was expecting: a younger Lucille, maybe a year older than Eva at best. She had a similar expression to the dead teenager, more intense in both respects, ecstatic and hungry and horrified and panicked. Her eyes, vibrant and bright, gleamed silver. But where the dead guy was, well, colored like a person, with pale skin, red lips, bloodshot eyes, and so on, Lucille was monochrome, dim, gray. But I could see something lurk behind her eyes, something cold and sullen and bitter.

I could also see the faint outline of a figure over her, with bright silver eyes, and there was something there, an emotional connection. Fear, hatred, loathing, love. I couldn't make out any features, but by the build of it I guessed it was a man. Family.

Then the soulgaze ended, and I was back in the booth. On my end, I felt a resigned frown settle over my face from what I'd seen. Lucille…

Terrified would be underselling it.

Her eyes were completely silver, to the point that even her sclera had changed color, and I could feel her Hunger lashing out at me. But it wasn't coordinated, wasn't sensual. It wasn't a seduction; it was a mad attempt by a predator that found itself hunted and was trying to distract the other by any and all means available to it. She started shaking a moment later.

"We're leaving. Now," she said, her tone of voice barely under control.

"What?" Tim asked, looking her way and pausing at the crazed gleam in her eyes.

"Now!" she yelled, throwing him out of his seat and bursting out of the booth. Tim actually tore and took the curtain off in his accidental flight, and landed, tangled in the fabric. Renault, Lucille's knightly thrall, started to turn, but she grabbed his hand and started pulling him with force a woman like her should be completely incapable of, his eyes glazing over in the process. She left through the front door, not even sparing a glance for her brother.

After a few moments, Tim managed to disentangle himself, getting clear of the curtain and up onto his knees. He looked around, at the door, at me.

I just sat in my seat and drank.

Tim got up then, his eyes slowly turning more gray than blue. He eyed me warily as he moved, and glanced towards the bartender, who was frozen in shock. He almost took a step towards her, then looked back at me and stopped. He stood there for a few seconds, obviously tense, then slowly closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When he opened his eyes again, they were mostly blue.

"I need to go see to my sister," he said tersely. "You can… see to this." Then he turned around and stalked out of the tavern. Literally stalked, almost like a cat. If he had a tail I'm sure it would have been swishing around in agitation.

Once he left, I sighed, finished my drink, and got up. I could guess part of what Tim had wanted to do. While the bartender was probably someone Tim fed on, to get preferential treatment and because she was, admittedly, fairly attractive, I doubted she was clued in. And she'd just seen Tim fly out of a booth, followed by a plump young woman dragging an armored knight out of the tavern with one hand. Weird shit had definitely gone down.

Thing is, I didn't really need to do anything. Even if I knew a handy memory-removal spell, and was willing to use it, I wouldn't. This occurrence would be filed under 'Strange and Bizarre Incidents' in the bartender's mind, and after a while she'd just never really think of it again.

Though, if it made her hesitant about Tim, that was a bonus.

Now, the _curtain_, that was another matter.

"I'm sorry about that," I said, speaking to her in a polite and calm tone, trying English first. That grabbed her attention and seemed to shake her out of whatever state she'd been in, and she focused on me. I pulled back on my emotions and magic, consciously leashing it, and the temperature, which had been rising, instead fell back down to a little above room temperature. "How much to replace the curtain?"

She blinked, inspected my face, then looked past me at the fallen and torn curtain. After a few seconds, she named a price which made me wince. I really didn't have much left after my London shopping spree, and the curtain, judging by the price, wasn't just some minor thing. I was half-tempted to say screw it to using magic in public and just mend the damn thing. But I didn't. Instead, I sighed, dug around in one of my pockets, and withdrew the rough sum she'd requested. I put it down on the counter, and went back to the now exposed booth, dragging the other two flagons over to my side.

Then I sat down to think.

Physical appearance was deceptive when it came to placing the age of a vampire, one of the perks of that brand of immortality, but when combined with the missteps, I felt comfortable placing them roughly around what their looks suggested: early twenties, maybe late at a stretch. They were here alone, at least so far as I knew. Lucille had ingratiated herself into the local power structure, but she wasn't able to wield total control over Robert; John was a check against her when it came to Robert, and Elfleda an opponent when it came to the wider court. And Tim was, what, the agent? The troublestabber, to borrow my earlier words? Not an ironclad position by any means.

And Lucille, well, sucker's bet what had happened there. I didn't know how the Skavis and Malvora manifested their Hungers, but the Raiths just seemed to love their cycle of murderous parental abuse. She'd probably been infatuated with a young and dashing knight, maybe the start of love, and instead things had gone terribly wrong. Then she'd been inducted into the White Court, all its secrets, all its intrigues, and told that this was her new normal.

At a guess, once she'd heard that William was gearing up for an invasion of England, she'd leaped at the chance, ingratiated herself with one of the players, and now was separated from continental, family intrigues by the English Channel. There wasn't some grand plan, at least one that she was aware of; she'd just run away.

I wouldn't be surprised if there was some misandry there too. If her early life had been anything like Inari or Connie's, she'd grown up with little idea of the truth of her family and a perhaps idealized view of the world. Then that had been violently torn away and her vampire parent told her that violent trauma was just business as usual. As for Tim, well, if his Hunger had manifested before hers had, and he'd never told her… well.

And in the span of a few short conversations, I managed to press just about every single 'powerful man gives her an unpleasant ultimatum as to how to live her life' button possible. By accident.

I drank some more.

Part of me wanted to just leave things as they were. With Lucille apparently experiencing some existential terror towards me, the odds were pretty high she might just pack up and leave entirely, more so if I made some vaguely threatening gestures. Then I wouldn't have to worry about vampires anymore, wouldn't have to worry about them preying on Elfleda or Eva or anyone else. And it wasn't like Lucille was an especially good or warm person; the soulgaze had shown me that. Everything about her was a mask built up around a frozen core of bitterness.

But. But. I don't think she's a bad person either, just someone the world broke. And if I drove her off, that bitterness would just fester. Now, it's not my job to fix her.

But she's a young, beautiful woman that maybe, maybe, could recover if given the opportunity. And for whatever unknowable reason, that's just catnip to my brain.

"Hell's bells," I sighed, and drank.

* * *

On my way back to the castle, I stopped by to pick up a sizable wooden board, the kind you might hang in front of a shop or a house. Then I tentatively proceeded back to the castle, one hand on my staff the entire time just in case something happened. I continued in that fashion all the way to the room in which I had currently piled my stuff and that I had magically locked. I only relaxed once I was inside, and then I sat down on the bed.

There wasn't much point in following up with the vampires, Lucille was probably still freaking out. Eva was probably still with her father, and it'd take me a few days to figure out how I could give her lessons without arousing suspicion, so she was out. Elfleda was around, probably. I could go to her. On the other hand, I hadn't apologized to John for reading from his collection. A minor thing, all things considered, but still.

Also, if I could get his help in teaching Eva Latin, that would simplify things for me greatly. If, though. Figuring out that if would take a while. Oh, and if the vampires did overreact, I could hopefully use John as a metaphorical shield against Robert. So, that decided, I locked the door again, doing the window this time as well just to be safe, and went looking for the castle chapel, which took me about ten minutes of wandering and asking.

The castle chapel was nicely plain. Almost quaint, really. Large glass windows at one end, clear, not stained, a few supporting columns, an altar at the far end, a wooden door off to a side room, and about six pews, all in rows, three to a side, wide enough to fit maybe five to six people at once. I didn't see any finery, any statuary, anything remotely expensive. Grand public cathedral, this was not.

John was alone in the chapel, sitting in one of the front pews, reading a book by the sunlight. He looked up and turned his head as I walked in, and squinted. "Ah, Harry," he said after a few moments. "Welcome back."

"Thank you… father?" I asked hesitantly.

"Father or John, either is acceptable," he said, closing the book and setting it aside. "Was there something you needed?"

"Not in particular. To talk, and to apologize for reading your books last time I was here," I said.

"Hmm? Oh. Well, since I didn't notice anything, I suppose you were careful. That's fine," he said dismissively. "Come, take a seat. What did you read?"

"Your copy of the _Aeneid_," I said, moving to sit at the edge of the opposite pew. "I notice you have a rather old copy."

"You did, did you? Yes, that was… an insistent gift from the earl, along with some of my other texts."

"Has he been to see you yet, incidentally?" I asked.

John frowned thoughtfully. "As I can't think of anything you may be referring to, I am going to say no. Why are you asking?"

"About… two hours ago now Robert and I had a talk about me working for him. I quoted Exodus twenty-two-eighteen at him and said he could corroborate my translation with you," I said.

"That passage is… not one I have memorized," he said after a few seconds of thought. "What does it say?"

"_Maleficos non patieries vivere_."

"Ah. That one. No, he hasn't come to see me about that yet. He did ask me about what the Bible said about magic, and I remember that passage now, but that was some time ago, so." He shrugged. "Why did you bring it up, however? I know some among the church who would translate that passage in a… less than favorable way."

"'Do not suffer the witch to live'?" I asked, half-dryly.

"In essence."

"I was explaining to Robert what I wouldn't do, and why."

"There are other passages you could have used, are there not?" he asked.

"I suppose, but I don't remember the Bible in its entirety either, and that line sticks with me for, well, obvious reasons. And I think it helped Robert appreciate how serious I was being."

"I see," he said.

We lapsed into silence for a bit, and then I asked, "Actually, now that I think about it, could I copy some of your books for my own use?"

John, who had just picked up his book again, set it down in his lap and hummed thoughtfully. "As long as you're careful, and you make a few extra copies," he said. "I imagine it will be part of your duties in any case, if you're going to work for the earl."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

John looked at me, took in my semi-confused expression, and chuckled. "Harry, you are the only person in the court that is bi-lingual in both French and English, in both the spoken and the written word." He paused momentarily, and frowned thoughtfully. "I assume you are literate in the English language, yes?"

"Yes," I said slowly.

He shrugged. "That makes you unique, so far at least. I wouldn't be surprised if your role ends up being less… mystical, and more mundane, a personal interpreter and court scribe."

I blinked a few times. "…huh."

Repetitive labor. My absolute _favorite_.

* * *

Author's Note: Something that I think needs to be remembered is that every Raith was put through horrendous parental abuse and emotional trauma. Maybe every whampire.


	22. Chapter 2-VII

**September 1069**

I chatted with John some more, then asked where I could find Robert's steward or seneschal and if John could lead me to him. He looked a little annoyed, though even that's too strong a word, at being drawn away from his reading, but he assented, said he could use the walk, and we went strolling through the castle, with me moving at half my usual pace because John was so much shorter and older. Eventually, after some meandering, we found the Steward of Berkhamsted, who was a man in his thirties with a slightly receding hairline, a faintly protruding gut, and the general impression of a pre-bureaucracy bureaucrat. After I explained what I wanted to him and that yes Robert had directed me to him and yes I was serious, the steward just kind of sighed and asked what I wanted.

My demands were simple: either a one-story home with a sizable cellar or a two-story house, with an attached stables or room to make or refurbish an attached stables. Fairly simple, all things considered. Oh, and to get it soon-ish, not to have to wait a season or a year for a new building to be constructed. I could tell the steward was going to double check everything with Robert first, and maybe complain about it to in not so many words. There probably wasn't a thriving real estate market in Berkhamsted.

After that issue was hashed out, I left John to his afternoon reading and went back to my room, unlocking and relocking the door as I did so. Then I rummaged through my bags, picked out a set of carving tools, grabbed the wooden board I'd purchased, and set to work.

In the bygone days of whatever is the opposite of yore, I had a business card. It said, 'Harry Dresden, WIZARD, Lost Items Found, Paranormal Investigations, Consulting, Advice, Reasonable Rates, No Love Potions, Endless Purses, Parties, or Other Entertainment.' The problem with recreating that here and now was, first, no mass, industrial printing to make business cards, and two, mass illiteracy. So business cards were out. If I wanted to advertise myself, I'd need to do it symbolically, and centrally.

Hence the wooden board.

Now, first off, I didn't want to actually advertise myself as a wizard. Unlike me-modern times, where people generally just looked at me as if I was a kook or a private investigator with a weird shtick, people here and now would take such claims a lot more seriously. And that brought with it a lot of baggage, and I really didn't need the White Council getting even _more_ annoyed with me than they already were. Instead, I planned to make myself out to be some kind of multi-class Investigator-Herbalist. Symbolically representing the latter was easy. The former, well, the PI genre didn't exist here, and investigators in general were, let's just say not very common, so that was more of a challenge. The no love potions bit, that was easy. Just add a philter, with hearts coming out the top, with a big fat X crossing it out. The rest would take a while.

Then again, a good chunk of the local population was involved in the trading and business-operating business, and merchants tended to have a better grasp of literacy. It was rather necessary when keeping the books. So maybe I could get away with a half-symbol, half-word business sign. Herbology and whatnot for one market, investigation for the other, and word of mouth could handle the rest.

No, I wasn't looking for ways to skive off doing scribe work. I was just looking for ways to employ my already existing skill-sets for the benefit of others. And my wallet.

Wizarding is expensive.

Ultimately, all I accomplished to start with was carving my name into both sides of the board, then setting it aside and pulling out some parchment and ink to start sketching and prototyping various designs.

It was maybe an hour into this process when the temperature dipped and someone knocked against my door. I looked up warily, set my parchment and quill down, and called my staff to my hand. "Who is it?" I asked.

"The woman you gave your coat to," the voice of Elfleda said. "I understand if you don't remember my name, we did only meet briefly."

"I remember," I said, before walking over to the door, unlocking it, and pulling it open. To my slight disappointment, Elfleda was wearing a heavier green dress that concealed her figure, and after greeting me she turned back to the door, staring at it curiously.

"What are you looking at?" I asked.

"…magic, I suppose," she said after a few moments, before turning to face me properly. "May I come in?"

I leaned out and looked around. "Should you be here?"

She shrugged imperiously. "And why not? You returned, I wish to speak with you, so here I am."

"I guess." I looked back into my temporary room. "It's kind of a mess."

"I don't mind," she said.

"Alright," I said, opening the door all the way and stepping back. As she walked in, I moved over to the desk and chair I'd piled a bunch of things onto, moved things off the chair, and then dragged it out before gesturing to it. As Elfleda went to sit, I went back to the door and closed it, though I didn't magically lock it. Didn't want to send the wrong message.

"So what did you want to talk about?" I asked, sitting back down on the bed.

"Anything," she said with a shrug. "You're literate, different, and seemingly well-read. That makes you far more interesting than most of the people here." She looked around, her eyes briefly falling on my in-progress business board. "What's that?"

"Business card," I replied. "For advertising."

Elfleda cocked her head in confusion. "Advertising?"

"Uh, describing what services I plan to offer, basically," I said.

"I… see. I think. And what services are those?" she asked.

"Mix of private investigations, lost items, missing people, that kind of thing, and herbalism."

"An eclectic mix. But… quaint," she said.

"It's my skillset," I said with a shrug. "How have you been?"

"The usual court life," she said. "Most of the hangers-on here pretend they're special or important, but they're really not. Banal, mostly. Normandy… was more interesting."

"Was," I noted.

"As I said, you're far more interesting than most of the people here. Or there," she said. "But what about you? You left so quickly. Rather rude, that, when I had so many questions."

"I'm generally hesitant about involving myself with courtly politics," I said. "The last few times have all ended in… excitement. Which isn't good for my life-expectancy. Sorry to disappoint you."

"Oh?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

"I decline to elaborate," I said. Especially since I had not the slightest clue how I was going to sanitize tales like 'I was contracted by Mab to find the murderer of the Summer Knight, who turned out to be the Summer Lady, who I then killed' and 'I walked into a convocation of vampires with a fellow Warden and ended up being partially responsible for a horrific bloodbath involving immortal regenerating ghouls.'

I mean, only slightly responsible, Vittorio definitely holds the bulk of the blame for that, but I still partially kicked off the events that lead to that, so. Anyway.

"Disappointing. Perhaps later?" she asked.

"Way, way later, if ever," I said. "So what kind of questions did you have?"

"About magic, primarily. Books on magic are rare and hard to acquire, you know. I certainly don't have any. And tutors, well…" She trailed off and shrugged.

"Ah, so you just want me for my magic."

"Hardly," she scoffed. "Thought that is a factor."

I rested my hands on the bed and leaned back, thinking. Elfleda's gift seemed fairly narrow. She could benefit from a general grounding in magic, and she might develop some proficiency with thaumaturgy – that tended to be a rather neutral discipline, talent-wise – but she wouldn't get as much out of it as Eva. Particularly since I knew very little about the Sight, which it seemed Elfleda was using a lesser, spinoff version of. On the other hand, there was an opportunity there.

"I'll consider it. Though, not for free," I said.

"Oh?" she asked, intrigued.

Hiding Eva's gift in the long-term from everyone would be difficult. I needed some support on that front, especially on the logistical side. I needed excuses to see her or for her to see me, ways to address her constant wardrobe mishaps, perhaps alternative tutors for non-magical subjects. Also, regardless of if Elfleda could see magic in some form or not, it was really just a matter of time until she figured out about Eva.

"There is a favor you can do me. A few, actually," I said. "Ongoing ones."

"Go on."

"I assume you've met or at least seen Eadric, right?" I asked.

"Your landlord, I presume? Eadric is a very common name in these lands."

"Yeah, him," I said. "He has a daughter, Eva. She displayed magic a few months ago. I took her on as my apprentice."

"And you would like me to look after her? Teach her?" she asked.

"That's part of it," I said. "The pressing issue is that the way her magic unconsciously manifests is… transformation of clothing, basically. So she needs a wardrobe. A large wardrobe, so that she can rotate through outfits while keeping the changes minimal and giving time for them to revert."

"How bizarre," Elfleda said. "Then you'd like me to take her shopping?"

"Basically," I said. "And cover any… feminine things and questions that might crop up. Beyond that, if you could teach her how to read and write French, and maybe Greek…?"

"Perhaps," she said. "And you are offering… what, lessons in magic?"

"That's what you seem to want," I said.

Elfleda smiled at me. "Well, not just that." Then her expression grew more serious, and she looked up at the ceiling, pondering. "Will you be living in the castle?"

"Definitely not," I said. "I plan to move into a house in town."

"Shame. Still, I imagine that would somewhat complicate matters with your apprentice." She suddenly grinned salaciously. "Unless you mean to pretend marriage to the girl, and have her live in your house."

I sputtered and coughed. "Uhm… no. Yeah, that… no. I'm pretty sure Eadric would try to kill me if I even suggested that. And, just… no. For _so_ many reasons."

Elfleda hummed in a somewhat satisfied tone, then went back to musing. "I could take the girl on, as a lady-in-waiting. It would be a tad strange, considering my position, but still possible. Then she could attend me without much cause for suspicion." She smiled. "Of course, then that would require me to visit your house. Frequently."

"Somehow, I get the feeling you view that as a positive," I said dryly.

She laughed, the sound loud and rich. "True enough. And would you then be teaching us together?"

"Well, more you sitting in on her lessons. There's not really a whole lot I could tailor to you," I said. "Your gift's rather narrow in that regard, and also one I'm basically completely unfamiliar with."

"I see," she said. "How do you plan to explain this arrangement to the girl's father? Do you intend to tell him what I am?"

"Well, that depends on you. Are you fine with that?" I asked.

She tapped one long finger against her lips, which highlighted her well-kept nails. "The girl would need to know, but I would prefer it go no further. The best way to keep a secret is to not spread it."

"Hmm. Well… Elfleda. That's a Saxon name, right?" I asked.

"It is," she confirmed.

"Do you know English?"

"From my mother."

"In that case, I guess I can make the argument that you're the closest thing to a proper local noblewoman there is for Eva to learn from, and emulate, and that you're doing so as a favor to me." I scratched my chin. "Or we just wait for him to leave, I tell Eva, and you just end up taking her under your wing." I clicked my tongue. "No, Cuthbert might be problematic if we do that. He's, uh, Eadric's son. So, yeah, I think we'll need to tell him and get his approval."

* * *

Author's Note: That sputtering section can basically be summarized as *Molly flashbacks.* And also, no, it's not happening, let me just kill that avenue of discussion off right now.


	23. Chapter 2-VIII

**September 1069**

"Why?" Eadric asked.

"Well, Eadric, I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't have breasts," I said dryly.

Elfleda suppressed a snort, and Eva seemed caught between acting mortified and giggling.

"More seriously, you asked me to look after your children at court. This is me, doing that, enlisting someone that can help," I said. "I can guarantee you, if Eva tried to emulate me at court, that wouldn't end well. For anyone. In any way."

Eadric eadriced, first at me, then at Elfleda. "And why are you doing this?" he asked Elfleda.

"Because Harry asked," she said in surprisingly good, if clearly accented, English. "And it's a simple enough thing, what he's asking."

"I can't look after her all the time, Eadric," I said. "And I definitely can't teach her everything she needs to know to thrive in this environment, assuming you still want her to be a lady and not go into a nunnery or run off into the woods to become a woods-witch hermit."

Eadric grunted eadricly, not looking away from Elfleda. After looking her up and down in a decidedly eadricy fashion, he finally sighed and looked up at me. "Fine. Fine."

"Excellent," Elfleda said. "Now the first order of business: Eva's new clothes."

Eva blinked. "What?"

"Court has certain expectations. You can likely ignore most of them if you're content with not grasping power and influence, but there are some you simply have to follow if you don't wish to be ostracized. Fashion is one of those," Elfleda said. "And first impressions are nigh-impossible to do over. So, let's go, before the court as a whole meets you."

Eva looked around a little uncertainly, at me, her father, her brother, Elfleda. I shrugged and nodded, Eadric grunted, and Cuthbert seemed caught between less-than-subtly checking out Elfleda and warily eyeing me. After that rousing show of support, Eva slowly got up and went to follow Elfleda, while I left the room.

Once I was a bit down the hall I slowed, and waited for two things: Eva and Elfleda to catch up, and for Eadric to close the door to his room. Then I asked, "Is there a private room around here?"

Elfleda hummed and looked around, then pointed at a door. "I believe that room is unoccupied. And unlocked."

"Hmm." I went over, tried the handle, then peeked in once I found it was open. It looked like the normal, noble-standard guest room that was common throughout the castle; clearly, it had been built with an eye towards having a much higher capacity at times. Probably a safe assumption for something intended to be an eventual royal retreat. I went in, waved for Eva and Elfleda to follow, then closed the door and threw up a veil around us. It wasn't the best, but since I didn't need to care about visuals I could instead focus on muffling and distorting sound, making it so that any conversation was warped into an indistinct buzz past its boundary.

"Alright, let's make more formal introductions. Eva, Elfleda. Elfleda, Eva. If you two could shake hands?" I asked.

Eva hesitantly looked at Elfleda and stretched out her hand, while Elfleda did the same much more confidently. When they touched, Eva jumped, while Elfleda just arched an eyebrow.

"Great, that's out of the way," I said. "Now, what I said to your father still applies, Eva. When it comes to how the court operates, she's going to be teaching and looking after you. Beyond that, she's going to be helping and covering with your… clothing problem."

"Which I will need to know the details of, to present the best solution," Elfleda said.

Eva was still in the process of blinking and looking back and forth between me and Elfleda, before finally settling on the latter. "Are you a witch too?" she asked.

Elfleda looked my way. "Am I?"

"Uhm… I mean, in the sense of being a female practitioner of magic, yes, but… I think it's also a technical term for someone with a particular set of abilities. In which case, no." I looked at Eva. "Elfleda is, well, the technical term's somewhat pejorative, but she's what's known as a minor talent. She's capable at one particular aspect of magic, and doesn't have a natural talent or gift for others. But she is clued in, so to speak."

"Alright," Eva said, obviously still processing. "Then, what can you do?"

"I can see emotions," Elfleda said.

"Oh. That's… interesting."

"Sometimes," Elfleda said. "Now, your 'clothing problem'?"

Eva blushed slightly. "Yes. That. Well, parts of the clothes I wear… transform. Changing colors, materials, shape. The longer I wear something and… the closer, I think, the more the change. Though it tends to go back after I take it off."

"Layers, then," Elfleda said. "And no headdresses. Would jewelry be affected?"

I gave a halfhearted shrug. "I don't know, but I don't see why it wouldn't. Might take longer."

"A question for later, then," Elfleda said, stalking around Eva with a critical eye.

"What could I expect to be doing for you?" Eva asked, a little unnerved by the way Elfleda was asking.

"Helping me dress, waiting on me, accompanying me around the court, and to your lessons," Elfleda said distractedly.

Eva looked at me in confusion.

"We need some kind of excuse for you to spend long periods of time around me. So Elfleda's that excuse. Think of her like… a magical beard."

Both Eva and Elfleda stopped at that, and Elfleda shot me a look that was somewhere between incomprehension, bemusement, and maybe a little insult. Eva just looked confused.

"A beard?" Elfleda asked slowly.

"It's… how to put it… it's a woman a man pretends to be in a relationship with so as to disguise the fact that he's interested in other men," I explained.

Elfleda slowly blinked. "…why is that arrangement called a beard?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Hell if I know."

Eva just looked confused. "…what?"

"Don't worry about it," I said. "She's your cover. And will be sitting in your lessons, since she's interested in magic as well. Just leave it at that."

"…alright," Eva said slowly.

A few moments later, Elfleda finished her circuit and nodded before looking up at me. "Is that all? Because I was quite serious about the new clothing."

"Yeah, that's it," I said, lowering the veil before waving at Eva. "Go, have fun, enjoy shopping."

"I… alright," Eva said, looking to Elfleda, who moved to leave the room. I lingered for a few moments longer, then left as well.

There wasn't really anything left to do, really. I mean, later in the evening there might be a formal introduction for Cuthbert and Eva, but that didn't really have anything to do with me, and certainly wasn't something I needed to prepare for. I didn't feel like starting any projects while I was still between places, there wasn't anything I needed to attend to right then. I guess I could have gone and started the process of copying John's books, but as interested as I was in getting copies, I wasn't that interested in the process.

After some thought, I decided to go visit the kitchens for a bribe. Lucille had had time to process things, calm down some, but I was fairly certain that seeing me again would just exacerbate the problem, particularly if she wasn't sure what I'd do or was afraid I'd attack her. I mean, I had a vague sense of what she might have seen and-or talked to; I knew my subconscious was somehow manifest and could be interacted with, and he wasn't the nicest guy. Some of Lash's memories were also clearly swirling around in there. And even if Evil Goatee Me hadn't spoken to her directly and she hadn't run into Vestigial Remnants of a Fallen Angel, she'd clearly seen something existentially terrifying.

I needed an indirect way of getting a message to her and telling her I wasn't about to come down like a burning sack of bricks on her, and that I was interested in talking further. Which meant culinary bribes. Or… is culinary the right word there?

Whatever. 

* * *

Getting a bribe from the kitchens ended up being a… somewhat involved process. Apparently, the way the temperature in the kitchen had suddenly and inexplicably plummeted before I got there sent some people into a panic, and they'd had less than no patience for a random, tall, strangely-dressed stranger demanding sweets. Reigning my aura in, sorting everything out, providing some assistance and taking up some simple tasks to both earn goodwill and free up labor, it all took the better part of an hour and a half.

I really needed to figure out how to make a watch. Couldn't be that hard, all things considered, could it? Maybe not a mundane one with gears and hands, but some kind of sympathetically linked wrist-worn sundial?

In any case, with my Quest for the Cookie succeeding after some unexpected delays, I returned to my room, peering carefully around corners and looking over my shoulder at a semi-frequent rate. Eventually I reached the safety of my own room, whereupon I hunkered down and went through the process of calling Larissa.

The tiny faerie ball of flight flew in through the window a minute later and stopped at the sight of the cookie in my hands. "Wizard," she said, a little impatient.

"Larissa," I replied. "I have a small task for you. I want you to carry a message to someone else who should be in this castle."

"And the cookie?" she demanded.

"On completion."

"Hmph. Very well," she said haughtily. "Relay your message."

"You remember the woman who looked like the vampire I had you follow?" I asked, waiting for her to hesitantly bob. "That's his sister. I want you to deliver a message to her."

The ball of light slightly warped, and I got the sense Larissa was fearfully leaning forward to inspect the cookie as if to see if it was _really_ worth it. "That's dangerous," she said.

"Perhaps, but I don't believe so. She seems to have developed a good appreciation regarding the risks of angering me. Just identify who you're relaying a message from first, and you'll be fine."

There was a very slight buzz that I took as her humming. "I want half the cookie now, as a down payment."

I suppressed a chuckle at her copying of my terminology. "Sure." I dug out a napkin, laid it out on an open stretch of table, put the cookie down there, and cracked it in half. "But first, you hear my message. You tell her the following: 'I'm still interested in talking, and I give you my word to not harm you if you reciprocate.' Then ask her if she has a message in return, hear it out if she does, then come back to me and relay it. Or relay that she didn't have one, if that's what happened."

"That's not the deal," she said suspiciously.

"Do you want the cookie or not?" I asked. Then, after the buzzing resumed and went on for a good ten seconds, I slowly reached out and started to pick up one of the cookie halves.

"Fine!" she cried, then flew forth to devour one of the halves. She even went so far as to pick through a number of the crumbs. Then, once she was done, she turned around and flew out the window.


	24. Chapter 2-IX

**September 1069**

Larissa returned about a minute later with no response for me, and immediately set about devouring the other half of the cookie.

I, meanwhile, went back to my sketch work.

Later, I started hearing a slight bustling outside my room, and for the first time in hours I looked out the window and checked the time. The sun had just passed the horizon, by my estimate, but twilight was still settling in and it was still fairly bright. Adding the timing together with the sound, and I figured that meant it was dinner time. And I was hungry; I hadn't had lunch at all and breakfast had come extremely early.

I left my staff and sword behind in my room, though I checked the capacity of my force rings before I left. They hadn't been building up energy for very long, and I didn't currently have any way to accelerate that process, like a punching bag, so the total force was very small. An ugly sucker punch at best, rather than a head on collision with a car. Still, useful, in certain circumstances.

I followed the stream of nicely dressed nobles to the large dining room, ignoring the looks they shot me, and just took in the surroundings.

Dinners at Berkhamsted Castle seemed like mini-feasts. Not proper celebrations or courtly events, which would probably take place in the main hall where the throne-and-dais were. Instead, it just felt like a smaller social event in a smaller room, with a U-shape arrangement of three long tables. Skirmishes rather than a battle, to use a not entirely inappropriate metaphor.

Now, I'd been to some high-falutin events before, I knew the dress codes and expectations. Which is why I showed up in my large leather duster, worn over a smaller, plainer brown tunic, with trail pants, and the accumulated fuzziness and morning shadow of a few days without a shave. Very fancy, my look. Drew all the appreciating stares.

Lucille was conspicuous by her absence. The social group that had clustered around her back at that first court meeting I'd walked in on was instead orienting around and/or fawning over Tim, who stiffened so hard a blind man could have seen it the moment I walked into the room. I arched an eyebrow at him, and after a few seconds he forced a smile onto his face and looked away.

You know, now that I think about it, I should see if Lara and her father's around, when I have the time. The latter, just to preemptively murder, and the former, to see if she's around, workable, and shouldn't be preemptively murdered. She may have been better than her father, but she hadn't really been any less of a monster. Just a more reasonable one.

Beyond that, let's see… there was Eadric and Cuthbert, sticking out like sore thumbs. Mostly for the simple reason that they were actually _fancier_ than what almost everyone else was wearing. The cloaks almost all the men wore were fairly similar in cut and shape, differing by color and occasionally fur, but Eadric and Cuthbert's tunics were longer, more embroidered, especially on the cuffs, and they wore stockings rather than pants. Cuthbert was actually receiving enough genuinely or faux interested looks that he looked extremely uncomfortable.

Man, the first few months were going to be rough for him. But definitely interesting.

Then there was Eva, where Elfleda had clearly indulged… someone, either her or Eva or even just both. From what little I had observed and absorbed regarding feminine fashion, Elfleda had decided to blend cultural fashions there. There was a white chemise that went all the way down to her feet, which was only a little visible over the knee-length grass-green gown that was bereft of embroidery. Then she'd mixed that up with a large, blue, hooded cloak that trailed almost all the way to the ground and was clasped at the front with a silver brooch. The hood was up but not tight, showing off some of Eva's black hair.

Yeah, if Cuthbert planned to beat off suiters with a stick and/or a sword, his life was going to get _really_ interesting. I probably wouldn't interfere too much on that front, so long as Eva was comfortable and not getting pressured and the age difference wasn't inappropriate. Though, looking around, that did knock out basically everyone, so I guess I was going to get involved eventually.

Elfleda had also gone a step further by color-coding with Eva, though in her case the colors were inverted, in part: white chemise, blue gown, and a smaller, hoodless green cloak that exposed her own blonde hair.

The extent of my involvement and interactions that night were eating, chatting aimlessly with people that went up to talk to me, saying that yes, I would be sticking around, and trying to keep my aura relatively under control so it didn't freeze all the food and drink. The one event of note, beyond Robert declaring that the mustering army would be leaving in two days to meet with another Robert's army – is Robert the Norman Eadric, namewise? – was when Eva had tried approaching and talking to Tim. The vampire had just stiffened, completely ignored the stares and glares coming from her family, and glanced my way.

I slowly, lazily, arched a single eyebrow.

I wasn't entirely opposed to the possibility of Eva and Tim, I just doubted it was motivated by anything more than simple lust and teenage girl's first crush on Eva's end. My brother had proven rather definitively that it was possible to have a… mostly healthy and truly loving relationship despite his nature, so hey, maybe Tim could too. And if Eva got together with someone that could actually reasonably expect to live a rather long time, like her, then more power to her.

But there were so many ways that relationship could go wrong, and I would definitely watch it like a hawk if Eva was still interested after I explained what vampires were to her. Which would have to be soon, in all likelihood. Especially if Eva kept crushing on Tim, and he and his sister stuck around.

Then the dinner mini-feast wrapped up, I went back to my room, and decided an extra long stretch of sleep was in order.


	25. Chapter 2-X

**September 1069**

After sleeping on the subject, and doing some in-bed musing, I came to the realization that Lara almost certainly wasn't alive right now. Her father had been in the habit of painting portraits of the various women that bore him children, and the oldest painting I'd seen had been from five to six centuries ahead of now. Add that in with there seeming to be a twenty to thirty year gap between every painting, and chances were pretty good that unless Lara's father had gone centuries without impregnating anyone or had decided to start the habit centuries into his life, Lara wasn't around. Neither was her father.

I felt both vaguely relieved and disappointed about that. On the one hand, that meant I didn't have to deal with them. On the other hand, I had a lot of unresolved feelings towards them, and her father in particular. Mostly violent ones.

Oh well.

Life settled into a temporary routine of nothing very interesting happening over the next few days, with the exception of the departure of Robert, Eadric, Cuthbert, Tim, and a good chunk of the court, along with the army camped outside the walls and moat. Then the day after that, the steward informed me that he'd found a house that fit my specifications, and Robert's – which had been 'as close to the castle as possible' – and that I could start moving in. Which I did right away.

The house was a two-story affair, and wooden, which made me slightly nervous. It had two windows on every floor and every side, a small stable addition on the right side from the head-on perspective, and was situated at the edge of a street intersection. The included furniture was fairly sparse: a few chairs, a kitchen-slash-dining table next to a hearth, a fully loaded bed, maybe six rooms in total across two floors. I'd fortunately previously owned a number of cloths and cushions which I'd brought with me, but there were a lot of things I straight up hadn't been able to bring: the shelves, the table, the chairs. I'd had to sell those off, and probably got paid less than they were worth. Still, the house had a hearth, and a double-doored entrance, so it wasn't all bad. Would just take a while to get everything up to snuff.

Which, as it so happens, was what I spent the next few days doing: searching out, haggling for, and altering various bits of furniture, cutlery, food, wall bits, and home supplies that I needed. By the end of the week I was basically completely broke and haphazardly furnished, which, unfortunately, is basically my normal state of being.

Go me.

The result, after a few days of intensive industrial wizardry, is as follows: from the main double doors, you enter a small antechamber with a cupboard for cloaks and coats. From there, you entered what was basically a loft. The room took up about forty, fifty percent of the first floor, and was a combination kitchen, dining area, living room, and office. The floor was matted, which wasn't my preference, but rugs weren't exactly a thing in England; I'd checked. If I had more money I probably could have bought a bunch of furs and magically interwoven them to make a rough approximation of a rug, but I didn't, so I didn't.

The main room, which was a better name than the hodgepodge mix now that I thought about it, was for me to eat and do regular, normal business in. Like meeting prospective clients. The rest of the floor was taken up by a larder, which I kept magically refrigerated through a series of channels that funneled heat from the larder primarily into the hearth and secondarily throughout the rest of the house, a general storage room, and my laboratory. I'd debated setting it up on the second floor instead, but ultimately decided the first floor was better because I could eventually expand it underground once I figured out proper magical excavation. All the shelves I'd purchased had gone into the laboratory; later, once I had some acceptable, non-magical books to display, I'd put up a shelf in the main room and keep them there. Lastly, there was a set of stairs that led to the second floor.

The second floor consisted of three rooms: the bathroom, my bedroom, and a guest bedroom. The last was there mostly because I had the space left over and didn't feel like having a giant bedroom. The bathroom was pretty plain and small, just a small tub to be used when I figured out how to fill it with water on demand rather than having to carry bucket upon bucket of water through the streets up to the second floor. My bedroom took up a good chunk of the second floor, including the bed, a closet for clothes, and some shelves, containers, and stands for all of my gear. There was also an open space set aside for later, where I'd hang a punching bag or some self-made workout equipment or something. Right now, it was just empty.

All in all, pretty nice place. For a medieval house lacking all me-modern amenities, anyway. God, I missed showers.

There hadn't been a good opportunity for lessons during that first week. In the castle there were too many people and prying eyes, and during my move and renovation I simply hadn't had the time. But now, or then, or whatever, I had time.

Elfleda came by with Eva a little after noon, right as I was in the process of cooking lunch. It was actually a little inconvenient, as I had to rush to the door, hurriedly and absentmindedly welcome them in past the set of initial, less-than-pleasant wards I'd erected over the past few days, and brought them into the main room. Both were dressed in plainer gowns and rather heavy, hooded cloaks, and Elfleda looked a little different, like she'd applied makeup in an uncharacteristic-for-her way. As disguises went, they were alright. I left them to look around the admittedly sparse room, and then went into my larder to dig out more food, then my storage room for the cutlery and plates.

"Interesting sign you have, hanging outside your door," Elfleda said once I'd come back and gotten back to cooking.

I'd finished the sign yesterday, having finalized the design the day before that. There were two sides, one in French, one in English, but beyond that they were identical. It went HARRY DRESDEN at the top, followed by a lit torch, then a mortar and pestle and some herbs, then, in smaller letters, HERBALIST, INVESTIGATOR, FINDER OF LOST ITEMS, and below that, a crossed out philter with a heart symbol and the words NO LOVE POTIONS.

"Finally finished it," I said, turning over some roasting beef. "What do you think?"

"It's certainly… different," she said, looking around.

I snorted and gestured at the chairs. "Nice compliment. Please, take a seat. Pork's going to take a while, but there's bread, cheese, and water."

"Hmm," Elfleda hummed. There was the sound of someone sipping water, and then, "Cold."

I shrugged. "It happens around me."

There was some idle back-and-forth small talk while I finished cooking, and then I took the pork out of the hearth, cut it up into three servings, and then distributed the plates and cutlery before finally sitting down. I picked up knife and fork and started cutting up the meat further, Eva did the same, and Elfleda tried to do the same, and then winced as she picked up knife and fork.

I stopped. "Are you alright?" I asked.

"No," she said, her voice strained. She released knife and fork and they clattered to the table, and then she turned her hands palm up, wincing again. I could see discolorations and rashes start to form in lines across her fingers and palms, right where she'd grabbed the utensils.

"Are these made of iron?" she asked, voice still taut with pain.

"They are," I said. Basically all of my cutlery was iron, for a very particular reason. "Are you allergic?"

She gave a pained smile. "You could say that."

I narrowed my eyes slightly. That was a very… particular way of responding to the question, almost fae-like. Except she obviously couldn't be a faerie, because if she was, her hands would have been on fire, not irritated. And I didn't know of any other type of being that didn't react well to simple physical contact with iron.

"This is embarrassing. Do you have a wet cloth, or…?"

"I can get something for you," I said. "Could you say a simple lie first though?"

She gave me a resigned smile. "The night sky is made of bright pink trees."

I nodded, relieved but still confused, and said, "Be right back." I grabbed a napkin-sized cloth off the table and went into my refrigerated larder, and specifically my icebox. There, I took out a cube, warmed it enough to melt, and then let the water soak into the cloth before pulling a little of the heat out and throwing it into the channels that fed the rest of the house. Then I came back out into the main room, and handed the cloth off to Elfleda, who took it with a thank you and promptly smushed it between her hands, letting out a sigh of relief as she did so.

I eyed her a bit, still trying to piece things together, and said, "I'll find something else for you to use."

"That would be appreciated, thank you."

Trouble was I didn't really have any other cutlery. Which meant I'd either have to go out and buy some quickly, a not really viable option, or quickly hammer out a rush job. And the problem with that was I didn't have spare metal. I did have wood though, so that would have to do. I went to my storage room, quickly dug around for a small, thin block of wood, and after some thought, decided to do the magic carving in the main room as a demonstration. I came back, sat down in my seat, and looked across the table at Elfleda.

After a few seconds filled with awkward silence, I decided to probe and prod by asking, "Sooo?"

She sighed. "Well, as the iron already gave it away, I'm a changeling. Not something I like to dwell on."

I sat back in thought, and lifted a finger as a sign to wait when Eva looked like she wanted to pipe up. I thought back over my prior interactions with changelings, and if they'd ever come in contact with iron, but I couldn't really come up with anything. I'd had a few run-ins, yes, and been friends with the Summer Knight, but there weren't many instances for me to reference and none of them had involved touching iron, to my knowledge. Metal, sure, but metal in general wasn't a problem to faeries, just iron.

I deliberated for a bit, then sighed. I hadn't really wanted to use the Sight on Elfleda at any point, but, well, needs must. I turned and angled myself so Eva wasn't in my line of sight, and then opened my Third Eye.

The Sight defies real explanation, categorization. No one knows where it comes from, why it works the way it does, why it manifests differently for every person – though there are guesses and theories. In my case, the Sight is rather literal, in that it changes the way I see things, though it also affects my other senses a little; I've known other wizards who had it manifest in a different way.

Under the Sight, Elfleda changed. Only, not really. She was still her, still dressed in a simple gown, still blonde and green-eyed, still normal. But there was another Elfleda superimposed over her. The other Elfleda had the same appearance, the same physicality; the differences were in everything else. Her dress, and it was a full and proper dress, was white and blue and patterned with snowflakes. Her expression was haughtier, colder, and her green eyes gleamed like emeralds and were slitted like a serpent's. Cold radiated from her, spreading out through the room and mingling with my aura. But the superimposition wasn't perfect. Rather than two people being in one place, it was like… one-and-a-half. Stretches of Elfleda were more human than fae, others more fae than human. And along the edges, the seams, there was a slight shimmer, a slight wavering, as the lines kept changing, stretching, shrinking.

I pushed my Sight away and sighed. Some of her caginess, word choice, and in particular her coldness towards her mother made more sense now.

"Your mother was a Winter Sidhe?" I guessed.

"Yes," she said tersely, her voice less strained now. "I'd rather not discuss the bitch, if you don't mind."

I nodded. "You realize this changes things?"

"Somewhat," she said wistfully. "I would have mentioned it eventually, in a few months, half a year. Once there was more trust. But, well," she chuckled and looked down at the iron utensils. "It looks like you're very careful."

"When it comes to faeries, yeah," I said. "Is your mother going to be a problem? As far as I'm aware, changelings are subject to the authority of their faerie parent, and their respective Court."

"No. She's dead," she said, speaking with such confidence and finality that I was fairly certain she'd done it herself.

"Alright." I looked at the block of wood, then Eva. "I guess today's lesson is going to cover changelings, scions, and other part-humans. But after lunch." I turned my attention back to the block of wood, and brought it up so Eva could see better. "Now, with your gift, you'll be able to accomplish something similar, and with less effort, given some time. But for now, just watch." Then, I started working.

I've never been good with precision work. Still aren't, really. But like I wrote earlier, soulfire covers many sins and shortcomings. It's not called the power of creation for nothing.

Before, when I'd first acquired it, and for some years after, I'd applied soulfire rather bluntly. I used it to strengthen and empower my evocations, my rituals, using it as an extra power source, like adding nitro to a car to make it go faster. But after Lash's memories had started stirring, well, I figured getting some sort-of secondhand knowledge of how to properly wield soulfire was a good idea. The migraines had been _horrible_, lasting months, but were entirely worth it.

There were two ways soulfire could be applied when it came to creation and crafting. You could infuse it directly, making the item just plain better in every way, improving its _purpose_ – knives cut better, armor was stronger, foci more effective. The downside to that was that you were literally putting a part of your soul into something external, and as thaumaturgical implements went, _nothing_ beat having a direct line to another being's soul. Also, I didn't want to follow the example of the Dark Lord Sauron and make a magic ring that held the bulk of my power or something megalomaniacally crazy like that.

The second way, the more difficult and indirect way, was to improve and guide the spells involved in the creation of items. In my case, it let me compensate for lack of precision and skill in shaping by imagining what I wanted and letting soulfire shape and control the process. I'd gotten better at it over the course of the last year and a bit, learning to use less and less soulfire to greater and greater ends, and by this point, carving out a wooden knife and fork took about a minute's effort and used only a tiny bit of soulfire.

When I was done, I set the remaining bit of wood aside – maybe half of it was left, after all was said and done – and turned to look at the others. Eva just looked intensely fascinated. Elfleda, on the other hand, was staring at me with eyes as wide as they could go. I guess seeing me use my emotions as a only slightly metaphorical carving knife had taken her completely off guard.

"Here," I said, sliding the wooden cutlery over to her.

She stared at me for another solid ten seconds, then finally blinked, shook her head, and looked down at the new cutlery, eyes still wide. Gingerly, using the cloth as an insulator, she picked up and moved the iron knife and fork, and then replaced them with wooden ones. Then, she tentatively picked them up and, once nothing happened, started eating with them.

* * *

Author's Note: I anticipate the incoming sinking of ships in three, two, one…


	26. Chapter 2-XI

**September 1069**

Water in the house was somewhat of a rationed resource. Bringing it in in significant quantities was tedious, if not necessarily difficult, and I needed it for a lot of things: cleaning dishes, potions, drinking, a little bit of icing. Beer with ice was honestly an abomination, but at least it helped counteract alcohol's frustrating tendency to get warm and hot around me. Also, plumbing wasn't a thing. The end result was that I didn't so much have a sink as a suitably large bucket, and that I tended to only clean dishes and tableware only at the end of the day.

The point is that after the now semi-awkward lunch was said and done, I stacked everything in an unoccupied corner of the main table and had everyone move a little closer.

"Alright. There are three general groups of beings that look human and act human, but aren't exactly human, to one degree or another. Those are scions, shapeshifters, and illusionists. At a certain level of power there's not really a difference between the latter two, but the distinction's still important. Scion is a general term for the child of a human and a non-human, and there are a lot of subcategories to that, though the two overarching subcategories are the ones born with a Choice, and the ones that… sort of aren't, at least in the same sense."

"Choice?" Eva asked.

I looked at Elfleda and arched an eyebrow. She looked back for a few seconds, then sighed. "Aren't you supposed to be teaching?" she asked.

"Sure. But you have a firsthand perspective on the matter," I replied.

"I suppose," she said, taking a deep breath. "The Choice is, essentially, what side of your heritage to embrace. To become human or… not. And it's always present, always there, and… not really difficult to make, I don't think. It feels like walking down a road, with different terrain to your left and right. You can step off at any time, or just keep going."

Something about that phrasing made me frown. "Not forever, right? I'm under the impression scions, or at least changelings, have to choose at some point."

Elfleda shrugged. "If so, I haven't reached that point."

"Hmm." I scratched my chin, then looked back at Eva. "Alright. In the case of the second category, a scion can either be born different right from the start, or be born relatively human and manifest their non-human parent's nature at a later date. We're going to cover one large group from both categories today.

"In the first case, there are changelings, scions with a faerie parent. The pairing doesn't particularly matter. It can be a faerie man and a human woman, or the other way around. They're born completely human and live that way for the first ten, twelve years or so, and once they enter their adolescence they start manifesting parts of their faerie parents' nature, emotional as well as physical. I knew one troll changeling who was big and tough enough to toss me around like a wet rag, which got coupled with anger issues that led to her nearly killing me at one point."

"What happened to her?" Elfleda asked.

"She Chose," I said. "And died right after. Helping me, or saving her friends, or getting revenge. Maybe all three." I didn't like dwelling on that moment or period of my life, for a few reasons.

"Oh."

I nodded. "There are… probably hundreds, if not thousands, kinds of fae, Eva. I couldn't even begin to enumerate them all, and honestly, once you're better at reading, I'll leave the general details to the books."

Eva nodded, then glanced at Elfleda. "What are Sidhe?"

"Faerie nobility, basically," I answered. "The most human ones. They don't actually like being called Faeries, so avoid doing that unless you actually mean to insult them, which I don't recommend because Sidhe tend to be powerful and clever."

Eva turned to look at Elfleda, and seemed to be debating whether to ask a question. Eflelda beat her to the punch. "I inherited a few things from my mother. Magic, a penchant for wordplay," she glanced my way with a small, slightly dull smile, "beauty."

I did not cough.

"Faeries fall into two… well, three general groups," I said a moment later. "The Court of Summer, The Court of Winter, and Wyldfae. The last are generally neutral, though some trend towards Summer, others toward Winter, and in times of crisis they tend to join up with their associated Court. Summer fae tend to be the kinder and nicer sort. That doesn't mean they're always good, or will help you, but they generally won't bother or be hostile to you if you don't give them a reason. Winter fae…"

"Winter is cold, and cruel, and selfish," Elfleda said. "My suggestion is to avoid them as best you can."

"Yeah," I agreed. "We'll cover the Courts in more detail later. They're more of an advanced topic when it comes to magic and wizardry. Witchery. Whatever.

"Now, from the second category, the major relevant group you need to be aware of are vampires. Not the walking corpse kind, those are exceedingly rare. The vampires I'm referring to are collectively known as the White Court. They feed on life force, the energy of the body, through the medium of emotions. They don't bite and drink your blood." I paused. "Well, I guess some bite, but not to drink your blood. Any given vampire tends to feed off of one emotion in particular, predetermined by which emotion their vampire parent fed off of, though they can change it with some effort. Most don't. I don't think there's any specific requirement to what emotions they can feed off of, but from what I know they tend towards ones that let them easily feed and manipulate people. And vampires feed by stirring and fueling that particular emotion in people and then getting close to them, physically. There's three major divisions to the White Court: the Malvora, who feed on fear; the Skavis, who feed on despair, and yes, there is a difference there; and the Raiths, who feed on lust."

I turned my head to look at Elfleda as I said that last part, and not even a second passed before her eyes widened in realization. "The Renouths," she said.

"Yeah," I said.

Eva looked back and forth between me and Elfleda, confused and a little afraid. "What?"

"Your attraction to Tim is not entirely natural," I said, focusing on my apprentice. "I mean, yes, he's objectively handsome, there's no denying that, but he's also semi-consciously pushing and inflaming your interest in him."

"And you haven't done anything to them yet," Elfleda noted before Eva could really start panicking.

"No," I said. "I haven't. Primarily because I've deemed them annoying, but not actively dangerous. And now Lucille is actively terrified of me, which… well, that could go either way, really. But seeing as how nothing's happened yet, my bet is she's not willing to do anything that might get me to come after her."

"How did you manage that?" Elfleda asked, intrigued.

"I looked her in the eyes," I said.

Elfleda arched an eyebrow.

"Now, as to Tim," I said, turning back to Eva. "Yes, he's a vampire. Yes, he's an asshole, at least in my opinion. But I hesitate to call him a monster just yet. A lot of the White Court are, frankly, but that's mostly a product of a stupendously abusive and toxic culture and family traditions. Seeing as how the Renouths have run away from their family and the rest of the Court, I'm willing to extend them some leeway and grace. Now, if you want to avoid Tim and his sister from now on, that's perfectly fine. I have no objection to that and, honestly, for now, that's probably a good idea. But don't… don't attack him or anything. Or her. Vampires have it rough. It's difficult for them to rise above their heritage, and if they're willing to try, they should be given a chance."

Eva didn't really look better. In fact, she looked rather sick. But, in the end, she shakily nodded.

"Okay. I… don't think there's really anything else worth covering at this point, when it comes to vampires." Which wasn't to say that there weren't a lot of things left to cover about vampires, but just that I didn't see the point in scaring Eva any further at the moment.

"Now, I'll have you practice scribing for a bit, while I have a chat with Elfleda"– and so Eva could calm down, which neither Elfleda nor I said aloud –"alright?"

Eva nodded shakily.

"I'll be right back," I said, heading off to my laboratory to grab some parchment, ink, a quill, and a book to copy, and brought it back to the main room. When I came back, I found that Elfleda had moved her chair to the other side of the table, and was side-hugging Eva. Elfleda looked up as I came back into the room, and gave me, or rather what I was carrying, a strange look.

"What?" I asked as I sat down.

"Is Eva adept at writing?" she asked. "Or reading?"

"Not yet, that's why I'm having her practice," I said.

"With parchment and ink, not slate and chalk?" she asked.

I stared at Elfleda for a good three seconds before letting out a long groan and banging my head against the table. "Fuuuuuuuuuck meeeeee."

Elfleda snorted in amusement and Eva gave off this kind of half-laugh, so I guess my lack of foresight paid off in some small way. And then, of course, Elfleda had to take the bait. "Maybe later," she said dryly, which set me to spluttering.

After that moment passed, I moved everything next to Eva and told her that if she had any questions or issues, I'd still be in the room. Then I motioned for Elfleda to follow me, and moved to the far corner.

"I'm sorry if this is insensitive," I said, pitching my voice low. "But considering our arrangement I have to ask. Why haven't you Chosen yet?"

Elfleda sighed. "I don't want to be a Sidhe, or of Winter, but… I'm afraid."

"Of what?" I asked.

"That without my heritage I'd be… ordinary. Forgettable. Powerless. As I am now, I have… I have influence, choice, power. If I gave that all up, who would I be? What would I do? Just another face in the crowd, controlled and directed by the whims of another."

"Do you really think that everything worthwhile about you comes from your mother?" I asked.

"She certainly implied as much," Elfleda said bitterly.

"But didn't state it outright."

"No." She laughed mirthlessly. "I imagine you know how Sidhe talk, never saying anything of substance. And, I just… don't want to take that risk."

I nodded. "But that does leave you under Winter's authority, regardless of the state of your mother."

Elfleda sighed and nodded. "I've... yes, I suppose it does. I…" She choked off a laugh. "Honestly, after hearing about the redcaps, part of me was hoping you'd protect me. I… we can break this off if–"

"Stop," I said, holding up a hand. "You're not some kind of danger, or risk." I frowned. "If anything, now that we're baring some secrets, I'm probably more of a danger to you; Winter's certainly rather interested in me. But if you want to stay, if you want to help, I will protect you. Not like there's a big difference between one and two fugitives."

Elfleda leaned back slightly. "What did you do, to catch Winter's interest or ire?"

"The Winter Queen is… let's say interested in me," I said. "Sexually. Among other things."

Elfleda blinked, then gave me a long, languorous look. "I can see why," she whispered after a moment.

Once again, I did not cough.

After that little moment, we both went back to the main table, where I straightened out Eva's mistakes, answered her questions, and started discussing the particulars of Latin with Elfleda. It probably wouldn't have much use in her personal life, and I would need to go to some lengths in order to get her actually proficient in it, but considering most magic books were written in either Latin or Greek I figured she could get some benefit out of it, with time.

Ultimately though, we didn't spend too long on the reading and writing. Help was important, but this was also the kind of task that could be practiced and done as homework, to some extent. Doubly so with Elfleda's help, who was starting to teach Eva French.

After that, the subject shifted to more magical theory and philosophy, which Elfleda seemed more interested in. Then, during a pause in my lecturing, Eva asked a rather pertinent question:

"You've discouraged me from using magic for simple tasks, not that I can," that last bit was muttered under her breath, "but you used it to make the knife and the, um…"

"Fork," Elfleda and I said simultaneously.

"The fork," Eva went on. "Why was that different?"

"Good question," I said. "And the short answer is context. But for the longer explanation, let me respond with another question: why was not using magic impractical in that scenario?"

"Well, you didn't have anything else," Eva started. "And I… would you know where to buy a knife and fork?"

"Knife, sure. Fork, they don't really make those here. The ones I have I had to commission a blacksmith for and provide specific instructions to him."

"So you couldn't just go out and buy some. And even if you could it would take a while. Then… you did it because it was convenient?" she asked.

"Close, but you're missing an important aspect."

Eva frowned and hummed thoughtfully, and this went on for a little while before she sighed and shook her head.

"Courtesy," Elfleda said. "It would be impolite to leave for an extended period of time. He had already, albeit unintentionally, and innocently, provided utensils that were not of use, and had actually been of harm. The food would have gotten cold."

"As she said-"

"And, perhaps, to impress me."

I gave Elfleda a look.

"No?" she asked.

I sighed, and looked back to Eva. "Whether you should use magic for something 'simple' depends ultimately on how practical it is to do it without magic. If I'd known in advance that Elfleda was a changeling and had days to prepare, then I would have made the utensils myself or, more likely, gone and had some made out of pewter. If I need to make a campfire for the night and I'm not in any hurry, I'll do it myself. If I'm being charged by a rampaging demon-bear, trying to hit it with a sword as opposed to magic is not very practical. Unless it's a very special Sword."

"Rampaging demon-bear?" Elfleda asked. "There's a story there, I think."

"I got my ass kicked before an old, arthritic man with a sword saved me. That's about it," I said, not really wanting to get into the Denarians at this juncture.

Elfleda sighed in disappointment.

That first meeting and lesson went on for another three or so hours, during which Eva consciously and deliberately managed to briefly change the color of the reduced block of wood from an oak brown to a birch white. That prompted me to briefly talk about how and why wizards named spells, and said we'd talk more about it at the next lesson.

Mainly because I needed time to actually prepare some options for her; it wasn't like Eva even knew of many other languages to adopt as a lingua arcana, let alone one that she was unlikely to ever use. I certainly didn't want her making my mistake of choosing Latin.

After they left to go back to the castle, I went into my lab – which did not have any windows – and got to work. I didn't need a language that was actually easy to learn, since Eva wouldn't be using it to actually communicate. What I did need, however, was a language that she wouldn't find hard to pronounce, and that she could extrapolate new words and spells from, even if the words themselves ended up being kind of gibberish. And, preferably, it should be a language I wouldn't need to dig too deeply into Lash's memories for; headaches were a pain to deal with, literally.

Which, in the end, meant my choices were either a transliterated Ancient Sumerian, or my paltry, secondhand knowledge of Japanese. And I didn't really want to use that second one; it reminded me of Molly.

And then, an hour after that, someone knocked on my front door. And from what my preliminary set of wards was telling me, it wasn't a regular person. But not someone really powerful either.

I put on my rings and grabbed my staff as I headed to the front door, fishing the former out of my pocket and taking the latter from where it rested along a wall. Then I went into the front foyer – that's the word – and opened the door without taking down the wards. The wardstone I kept on my person kept them from going off, though they did still shift into an active mode the moment the door was opened even slightly.

Waiting on the other side, features obscured by a fairly plain cloak, was Lucille.

She didn't have her naïve ingenue mask on. Instead, she was pretending to be calm, collected, and in control – and I say pretended, because I could see the discomfort and fear in her eyes, now that I could afford to look in them.

I put the staff up against the side wall, since it was no longer necessary as a defensive tool, and crossed my arms. "Well," I said. I almost went on to say something about failing to schedule a meeting. Almost. I didn't want to scare her off, not yet anyway. "Are you here to talk?"

"I am," she said tersely.

I grabbed my staff, stepped back, and brought down the wards. Then I silently gestured for her to come in. She looked at me.

"I give you my word I won't harm you, but I'm not giving you a formal invitation," I said. "Your Hunger stays out there."

Lucille's lips thinned into a line, and she took a deep breath. After a few moments, she took another one and stepped through, shuddering as she crossed the threshold.

"Close the door, please," I said, then moved back to lean against the door that led further into the house. She did so, then turned to face me.

We stood in silence for a few moments, and then she asked, "Are we going to speak here?"

"To start with, yeah," I said. "What are you here to say?"

It took a bit for her to respond. "Your friend, among the Court. Where is he?"

"Dead," I said. "Has been for a while. I wouldn't bother trying to find anything about him. There's not much left."

Lucille frowned, evidently not pleased by that answer.

"Are you planning on leaving?" I asked when she didn't say anything else.

"Perhaps."

This conversation was really going places, I could tell.

"Who is she?" she finally asked, looking me straight in the eyes.

_Really_ going places.

I swallowed. "You're going to have to be more specific, if you're asking about what I think you're asking about."

"The girl."

I didn't say anything for a long, long while. Finally, hoarsely, I whispered, "My daughter."

A complicated series of emotions – dismissal, anger, sadness – flickered across Lucille's face. I took a deep breath.

"You loved him, didn't you? The first man you slept with," I said.

Lucille froze completely, expression going blank. It maybe wasn't the best response I could have gone with, but she'd brought up what she'd Seen, so I did the same.

After a few moments, contempt settled over her. "Yes. And he was just a shallow, simple man. I was a fool to…" She trailed off and shut up.

"Is that what your father said?" I asked, taking a shot in the dark. "That it was the guy's fault he died, that you became a vampire, that he didn't love you enough? Or at all?"

Lucille glared at me, but didn't say anything. She didn't need to; the glare was answer enough.

"Your father fucked you up, didn't he?"

Lucille clenched her jaw, then inclined her head a fraction of an inch in a nod. I sighed.

"My terms haven't changed," I said. "But I hope you see I'm genuine now, that I'm not just jerking you around."

"Aren't you?" Lucille asked. "I acknowledge that you are… sincere, but what do you actually offer?" She snorted. "A life in chains? A cure?"

I pulled my arms in a little tighter. I hadn't been able to figure out a way to help Susan, but that had been years and years ago, before Lash and before I'd technically sort of kind of done it. But a bloodline curse was not a nice or easy piece of magic to pull off, and I had no clue how to target it at a Hunger, or how to make sure it didn't result in the now Hunger-less person being reduced to a gibbering wreck. Maybe there was a method somewhere in Lash's memories; my godmother had been able to lull Susan's infection to sleep, so there probably was some way to do something similar to a White Court vampire. But I, personally, didn't have the first clue where to start.

"No. I have… vague ideas, but the best I could manage is to prevent your Hunger from feeding. I don't know how to get rid of or seal it away entirely."

Lucille paused at that, then backed up a step. "What?"

"Well, technically it's something my mother figured out and did, but she did leave me some hints and I could probably recreate her work," I said. "But I don't think that's really relevant to your situation. You're right, I can't exactly fix you. But you can better yourself, and if your family comes after you, tries to draw you back into its intrigues, especially if you start growing influential, I can stop them. That's what I'm offering."

Lucille didn't have an immediate response to that. "I will keep your words in mind, wizard," she finally said. "May I go?"

I shrugged. "I'm not keeping you here."

"Then good night."

Then she left.

* * *

Author's Note: Part of me wants to start adding notes from the Archive into "the margins", but I'm not really sure how I'd do that effectively.

Regardless of whether I decide to go ahead with it thought, and how, it'll have to wait until the Archive actually appears on screen. Which should be in about… three to five chapters, thereabouts.


	27. Chapter 3-I

**November 1069**

The trouble with traveling alone is that sometimes, bandits mistake you for a good mark.

There were eight of them, hiding around a bend in the road that wound around a small hillock. They all wore heavy leathers, and carried a mix of spears, shortswords, and hunting bows. Currently, that mix was four bows, three spears, and one guy, presumably the leader, with a hand on his sword's hilt.

I sighed. "Been a while since someone has tried to rob me." Then I frowned. "Wait, no, I've never actually been robbed."

I seemed to have interrupted whatever spiel the leader was going to give and derailed his train of thought, leaving him with a bemused look. Or maybe it was my use of French; that had been my primary language over the last few months and I'd gotten into the habit of using it before English. Which was something I really should correct; I didn't want to go native in that regard.

"Look, guys, I really don't have anything to steal," I said in English, shifting my grip on Shadowfax's reigns to hide the rings I was wearing. "I've got my clothes, my horse, and some food for the road."

"That's what they all say," the leader said, having found his voice. It was rather gruff and gnarly.

"Have you considered the possibility that they say it because it's true?" I asked.

The bandits looked at me as if I was crazy. Which wasn't an unreasonable assumption, on the face of it. I mean, how often did you run into a wizard? Assuming you weren't a resident of Berkhamsted.

"Then you won't mind if we check," came the response, the leader sounding a little testy.

I considered just riding around them and blocking their arrows with a shield. It wouldn't be difficult; I'd held a shield against gunfire, and arrows just didn't cut it by comparison. I could even make the shield large enough for Shadowfax. The only issue with that plan is if they had hidden archers, in which case one of them could nail me.

And then one of the bandits, the tallest one, had to get a bright idea. "Hey, what's that around your neck?"

I froze, then let out a long sigh. I kept my pentacle necklace hidden beneath my tunic and duster, for fairly good reason; it was high quality silver with a ruby set into it, and even if that wasn't enough to draw the eye, the pentacle-in-circle arrangement would draw eyes and comment. It just wasn't worth wearing it openly in this day and age. But the silver that made up the necklace tended to be visible, from the right angle.

I took a deep breath. "Okay. New plan." I let go of the reins with my right hand and gestured, intoning, "_Infriga ignis_", as I did so. The bows of the archers all froze as I sucked the heat out of them, pulling it together into a small ball of fire floating snugly in the palm of my hand.

"We're going to play a game called 'Do You Really Want To Threaten The Wizard?'" I said conversationally. "The rules are simple: either argue with the ball of fire, or let me go by." I willed the ball of fire to advance slowly, in the direction of the wide-eyed, found-himself-swimming-with-sharks leader. For good measure, I started humming the Jeopardy tune.

I didn't even get through the first refrain before they bolted.

"Common Sense for five hundred, Alex," I muttered as I watched them run.

My opinion on criminals varied. Scum like Marcone and most of organization were assholes, plain and simple. They may have dressed up in fine clothes, made vague charitable donations, and made themselves seem necessary, but at the end of the day they decided that money and power was worth all the violence, oppression, and lawbreaking it took to get there.

People like those bandits, I didn't like them, but I could get them. It was easy to turn to crime when your life fell apart with no safety net, leaving you with no good options and a need to eat. And the recent wars and continuous rebellions had destroyed a lot of livelihoods. Soldiers with no homes to return to, farmers with burned and ruined lands, people from towns that had been sacked, and so on. Were they right to resort to banditry? No, obviously not, but it also wasn't their first choice. If a better opportunity came up, I figured some might take it.

I kept on the road to Hogsmeade, arriving at the village around midday and at Rowena's tower a little after that. Helga and Salazar were already there, and the next five or six hours passed with minimal sniping, a little snarking, a bizarre amount of eyebrow waggling from Helga, and a lot of magical theory as we went over Rowena's notes and experiments sending spells through ley lines. Salazar and I didn't even insult each other. Well, maybe a little. Maybe.

It's progress, alright?

The sun had gone down by that point, and with winter approaching, I was hesitant to do any nighttime traveling. It seemed like tempting fate; or rather, Mab. So, as the others left Rowena's tower and headed out, I lingered.

It took a few moments for her to realize I wasn't heading down the stairs with the others, at which point she turned and gave me a curious look. "Harry?"

"I'm sort of... hesitant to travel by night. And it's dark out." I motioned out the window. "So, do you happen to have a spare bed or room or...?"

I trailed off at Rowena's surprised expression and the way she stood there, half-turned, a little bent, just staring at me. It went on for long enough to feel uncomfortable before she blinked, shook her head, and said, "No, I've never really considered accommodations for... guests. There's just the one room and bed." She looked like she might say something more, then pursed her lips and sighed. "I might have some furs as extra winter coverings."

"That would work, thank you," I said.

"...yes. Um. Give me a moment. Wait here," she said, before taking the stairs up to the next level. The staircase was a central, spiraling arrangement that formed sort of the spine of the tower, with the separate floors and rooms radiating out from it. It took a few minutes before she came downstairs with a bundle of furs, which looked to be made out of bear, and set them down on the table we'd been working at, panting.

"I can take things from here," I offered, moving to grab the furs.

"No, no," Rowena said, shaking her head, still panting. With a grunt, she slid the furs over and dropped them to the floor. "Still fairly early to go to sleep. If you're staying I've got to figure out... dinner and..."

"That's not... exactly necessary, I know this is a little sudden-"

"Please," she said, a little insistent.

I sighed and held my hands up in surrender.

She stood there for a few seconds, before shaking her head again and saying, "Right, yes, secrecy. Could you, uhm..."

"Sure," I said, getting up, heading over to the window, and covering my ears. I could guess what she was asking easily enough, and it didn't really surprise me that Rowena had a brownie service. She seemed like the type to automate her own housekeeping for more magic time. A few minutes later I felt someone tap me on the gloved hand, and turned around to find Rowena a foot away from me and the central table covered in food.

I frowned as I lowered my hands. "That was fast."

"As I... my 'theory' is the food is prepared elsewhere," Rowena said, continuing to avoid any direct reference or confirmation of the brownies.

My frown deepened. "And that works? That's not faerie food?"

Rowena shook her head. "It's normal food. From my larder. Perfectly safe."

I nodded hesitantly, then turned back to the food. "Well... thank you."

We sat down and bit in, and it turned out to be so good I was almost convinced in acquiring a brownie service of my own. Screw Mab somehow turning them into her spying service, for cooking this good it would be worth it.

"Wow. This is really nice," I said, louder than was strictly necessary.

There was a brief pause, and then Rowena rolled her eyes in a motion that didn't look entirely natural.

"Why do you travel by horse, anyway?" she asked. "The Ways around here are fairly safe."

"For regular wizards, sure," I said, biting into some chicken. "Regular wizards don't have the Winter Queen constantly stalking and tracking them."

Rowena frowned. "The Queen of Winter is hunting you?"

"Hunting's maybe not the right word, considering I haven't really run into any hunting parties lately." Red Cap notwithstanding, and even that was, honestly, not one I considered a serious attempt. "But there's taking risks, and tempting fate. I know that the minute I open a Way, Winter's going to know where I am, and I'm not willing to test myself against their might on their home ground."

"How is she tracking you, and why? Surely there are ways to get around such methods, I know some options myself-"

"I owe her a favor," I said before Rowena could get going. She cut off instantly. "Not really any way to get around that without paying it off."

"...that would do it," she said after a moment. "However did you end up owing a favor to the Winter Queen?"

"It's a long story that involves me being a dumbass in my youth and making bargains with beings I really shouldn't have dealt with," I said. "And then making things worse. That's why I don't travel the Ways, and why I'm not really willing to head out into the cold, dark night when I'm being hounded by the Queen of Air and Darkness."

Rowena frowned, slowly picking at her food, frown deepening as she did so. "Do you think it would pose a problem to the project?"

"I mean, it hasn't yet, and I don't really see how it could be a problem for the project, beyond removing me," I said.

She shook her head. "No, that's not what I meant. Parts of Faerie know about the project, according to Salazar. I can't believe the Winter Queen isn't one of those. What if she's saving the favor to use after we're successful, assuming we are?"

That made me pause. "That is scarily plausible," I said after a moment. "And frankly exactly what she'd do." I chewed my lip. "But why? The terms of our arrangement mean she can't directly force me to do something I wouldn't want. She could arrange circumstances, sure, but..."

"Would she even want to call in your favor?" Rowena asked.

"I mean, presumably," I said slowly, not seeing where she was going.

"But so long as that favor is there, she can track you, yes? Presumably has other power over you."

I nodded. "Definitely, yes."

"Say we build our school. Cover it with wards, hide it, make it secure. Couldn't she just bypass it all, if you were involved?"

"I mean, if I were keyed into the wards, or involved in their construction, then maybe? But she wouldn't be... part owner or founder or anything like that. She'd still have to operate under guest right if she came past the wards, since presumably we'd establish some kind of threshold, even if a weak one."

"But if she could, then why not her agents? What happens if she or they start making offers to students?" Rowena asked.

I paused. "I... I don't think it works like that."

"But are you sure?" she pressed.

"No," I said after a moment, shaking my head. "I don't think it's likely, or entirely possible. But, with her, I guess we can't rule it out." I set the knife down, which was all I had as Rowena didn't have forks, and sighed. "Stars and stones."

Rowena nervously drummed her fingers against her cup. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you, I just... it just came to me."

"No, no, you brought up a good point," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Just means I need to figure out some goddamn way of prompting her to call in her last favor." I frowned. "At least the upside there is that the moment I finish whatever task she sets, I'll be done with her completely."

"Really?" Rowena asked.

"Well, unless I willingly start dealing with Winter again, so, yes, completely," I said. "I've had enough of Winter for one lifetime. If it wasn't completely impractical, I'd suggest we set up our school in North Africa. Just completely avoid that entire half of Faerie."

Rowena adopted a thinking expression, sucking in her cheeks, pursing her lips, glancing up at the ceiling. "Could that work? We'd need a strong Portkey, and then there's all the Ways. No, no... but what if..."

I arched an eyebrow, and once it became apparent Rowena was busy plotting out the feasibility of a technically intercontinental method of pseudo-teleportation, left her to it.

Ten minutes later, she was still at it, and had progressed to using knife and meet as some rough approximation of quill and pen.

"That was meant to be a joke," I finally said.

"I get that," Rowena said distractedly, looking up at me for a moment. Then she stopped, blinked, looked down at her food, and after a brief pause resumed eating.

"So how did Helga recruit you for this?" I asked. "I mean, in my case I think she followed rumors, then we talked, and that was it."

"Oh, we knew each other before she even had the idea," she said. "Shortly after she finished her apprenticeship, I want to say a year..." She shook her head. "Around that. She came to my tower and asked for me to teach her."

"And you said yes?"

"I was bemused, and curious, and... maybe a little lonely," she said. "Then two years passed, and she left. We kept up contact through owls, she visited sometimes. I can't remember which of us had the actual initial idea for her Hogwarts, but she was the one that kept pushing it."

"What was the plan like back then? Before me and Salazar, I presume."

"To get official dispensation and secure help from interested wizards."

I chewed slowly for a bit. "So the same as now, just minus that first bit."

Rowena nodded. "And you? Did you really just agree to work with her at your first meeting?"

"She had a good idea, and I didn't exactly have anything else to do. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you did turn away the Council when... oh. That's why." She bit down on some chicken. "That makes sense now. I thought you were just a rebel."

"I doubt I'd be on good terms with them anyway," I said. Then I snapped my fingers. "Almost forgot. You don't happen to have some kind of automated quill do you?"

"In what sense?"

"Copying text from one book to another."

"Oh, yes, I have one... somewhere around here," she said, twisting in her seat. "Or upstairs. Around."

I nodded, then frowned slightly. "What other senses did you mean?"

"I also have a quill that takes my dictations."

"I've never seen you use it."

"I prefer handwriting in most instances," she admitted. "It helps me focus."

I nodded. "Can you actually spare the first quill?"

"Yes, of course. I'm not using at the moment and it isn't that difficult to program."

She didn't actually say program. But for all of you future American readers, far far into the future in the mythical time of computers you might never get to use, that's the best metaphor for what she said.

I think. It's not like I got computers either.

"Is there anything I should know about it?"

"You need to supply the ink and watch the page count, and... you know, why don't I just show you once we're done."

We finished eating a few minutes later, Rowena doing it rather quickly. She disappeared upstairs once she was done, and came back down a few minutes later, black feathered quill in hands. She hurriedly took an inkwell and a piece of parchment off the wall, and set everything down on the table. Or tried to; it was still pretty full with dishes and cups.

I closed my eyes and covered my ears for a few moments, and when I opened my eyes again the table was clear of tableware. Rowena had ripped the parchment in two and laid the pieces beside each other, touching at the edges, and then dipped her quill in the inkwell and scribbled something on one half before putting the inkwell a few inches above where they touched.

"Good." She dried off the quill using her fingers, leaving stains, and then turned to face me. "Now, the way you use this is fairly simple. You press the quill to the upper right corner of where you want to copy from, then the upper left corner of where you want to copy to, and then put it in an inkwell." She went through the process as she spoke, and when she let go the quill floated out over the piece of parchment on the right and started recreating the scribbles.

"Do you need this particular arrangement?" I asked, gesturing at the layout. "And what about turning pages?"

"Yes, and the quill does that itself. Just make sure to have the right number of pages, otherwise it's going to start writing on the table beneath, or the back of the book. And don't worry about drying either, it waits a little after reaching the end of a page."

"This is impressive," I said with a whistle. "Nice work."

"Thank you."

"What do I do if it runs out of energy. Does it run out?" I asked.

"It does, yes, and... I... suppose you would bring it back," she said slowly. "But it should be fine for at least a few months. Oh, and if it runs out of ink it just sits down."

"That's good. May I?"

"Oh, yes," she said, picking the quill up off the table - it had finished writing - and handing it. "Just don't break it while traveling."

"I'll make sure not to."

Rowena nodded and glanced out the window, then looked back at me. She stood there for a bit, almost chewing on her lip, before she said, "Well, good night."

"Good night," I said, then watched her go upstairs. Once she was gone, I turned to the furs, pulled one out from under the other, and laid it out like a rug. Then I took off my duster, laid it out over a chair, and lay down, using the other fur like a cover. It was still early, but extra sleep rarely hurt.

It was as I was lying there, trying to go to sleep, that I stopped to think, 'Hey, was she coming onto me?'

Then I fell asleep.


	28. Chapter 3-II

**November 1069**

"Wow. Just wow."

Allow me introduce you to Alterna-Harry. Alterna-Harry is some kind of subconscious alter ego of mine that crops up like a bad rash every once in a while when I fall asleep. Like the id to my ego. Or, no, super-ego? Whichever it is, I'm not really fluent in Freudian psychology.

Alterna-Harry looked like he wanted to sell the Cultured Evil Wizard look and fashion line. He clipped his hair short and neat, had a fastidiously kept beard with a bit of a goatee, and wore a black silk shirt over black trousers, with black shoes on the bottom. Oh, and just to rub it in, he also had unmarred and unburnt hands.

"I was wondering when you'd show up again," I said, sitting back in a leather La-Z-Boy that just appeared and throwing my arms back in the process. "Was it too much to hope you'd just disappear?"

"Maybe I would if you started indulging me. It's not like you'd be in a much better position if you listened to me or anything."

"Oh yeah? And how do you figure that?" I asked.

"If you'd slept with Mab the first time she came onto you, she wouldn't be after you," he said. "Well, not in the same way, at least."

I sighed and rubbed my temples. "Okay, we're not even a minute into the conversation and I'm already done. Can I wake up now?"

"Oh, sure, ignore my advice again, like you always do," he said, rolling his eyes. "Would it kill you to at least consider sex?"

I took a deep breath and looked at him. "The last time I was not willing," I began.

He arched an eyebrow. "I don't recall you pushing her off."

"Because she surprised me," I said. "And then a little while later I had to kill Susan and watch her die in my arms. Then I really fucked up with Murphy, and that's not getting into the entire giant multi-lane screw-up that was me involving Molly in my suicide." I sighed. "Look, just, I'm done, alright? My entire love life has been one long train wreck from start to finish."

To his slight credit, Alterna-Harry was solemn and silent for a few moments. Then he ruined it. "You're done, huh?" he asked. "Is that why you keep checking out Elfleda's bountiful estates?"

"It'd be rude not to," I muttered.

"That's what you're going with, really?"

"It's not like that relationship's a good idea either, is it?" I asked. "Do you want to test if Mab can feel jealousy? Or see what she'd do to Elfleda if she found out?"

"Then do her, then her third task assuming that isn't it, and move on. To Elfleda. I'm really not seeing the problem here," he said. "The solution's very simple."

I sighed. "I am not getting involved with M…" I trailed off and looked around suspiciously. "We can't summon her here, right?"

"You did before," he said.

"Yes, but not _here_."

Alterna-Harry shrugged. "We can test it. Could even be the best solution. You don't necessarily have to sleep with her–"

"No. Just no."

He sighed. "Fine."

"Is there a point to this discussion? Or are you just here to bitch?" I asked.

"Driving in the hints you've been missing is as good a use of my time as any, but no, there is a point to this. I think."

I narrowed my eyes. "You think."

He rolled his. "I'm your subconscious, I think and know more than you do. The trouble is I can't generally realize more than you do." He frowned. "I can tell there's something we're missing. Something important, and potentially life-threatening, but that's it."

I took a deep breath and bit down my first response. "Do you have an idea as to the category of threat?"

"No, but it's probably fairly recent, otherwise I would have shown up earlier," he said, drumming his hands against the arms of the chair he was sitting in. It was a mirror image of mine. "Could be any number of things. The current plans for Hogwarts–"

"Please don't use that name," I groaned.

"If you really believe the school isn't going to be called that then you're in serious denial," Alterna-Harry said, not breaking stride for even a moment. "Anyway, the current plans, the memories, you've been digging into them a little more often recently, something to do with Elfleda or Lucille or Eva, something else, who knows?" He frowned. "Maybe something to do with Lasciel."

I looked at him. "Where'd that come from? We shouldn't have anything to do with her, beyond the memories."

"Well, somehow, either she or someone higher up, maybe Lucifer, whispered in our ear and got us to kill ourselves," he said. "So there obviously was some connection, and considering what Lasciel is, an Angel, Fallen or not, maybe there still is. And also, remember that you considered, if only for a moment, calling her up and taking her coin. Without some connection that wouldn't have worked; you know that."

"Except I was lying about being able to do that," I said.

"Yes," he said. "You were. But just because you were lying doesn't mean you were... right about the assumption that caused you to lie."

I frowned. "What's that mean?"

"That you could actually be able to call her coin, that there is a connection, and you just assumed it's impossible. You never actually gave her up, after all. Lash just died and broke the link."

"So you think she's aware of us?" I asked.

"I don't know. Maybe. Either way, I don't think that's what the instinct is pointing at. But it is something to consider." He folded his hands together. "Actually, she'd be running around right now, wouldn't she? With a different host."

"Maybe. Assuming she isn't locked up," I said.

"Assuming," he allowed with a nod. "Questions for later, in any case."

I frowned. "Wait. No. What if it is related?"

Alterna-Harry frowned.

"Uriel," I said insistently. "He was supposed to say seven words, someplace, somewhen. And so far, nothing."

"Maybe he hasn't felt the need, is saving them for a rainy day."

"Or maybe he already has," I said.

Alterna-Harry considered that, looking up for a moment. "And brought us here? Not impossible. But he'd have to say it to us, and I certainly don't remember anything like that, which means you don't either." He looked at me suddenly. "Are you going to write this down?"

"Probably," I said.

"Then make sure to say that I'm much uglier than you." 

* * *

I woke up at the crack of dawn with the crowing of a rooster. One that seemed to be crowing _within_ the tower. Did Rowena have some kind of morning alarm set up?

Never mind, that's a stupid question, of course she does.

I grudgingly got up from under the furs, putting on my coat before crouching down and picking through the fur where I'd rested my head. I doubted Rowena would get up to anything nefarious with my hair, and it'd go bad in a few days anyway, but I figured it was a good idea to not take any chances. It took me five minutes to go through the entire stretch of brown fur trying to pick out tiny strands of black before I finished, at which point I shoved the hairs into one of my pockets and started folding and packing the furs back up. Once that was done, I set the furs on the table and took a seat, waiting for Rowena to come down.

Because I figured it would be rude to just leave, and for _no other reason_. Well, one other reason, actually: her wards might've fried me had I tried.

About ten minutes later, Rowena came down the stairs and then stopped halfway down, blinking as she saw me. "You're still here."

"Yes, I am," I said, picking up the furs and holding them out. "I figured it would be rude to just leave. And I'm not sure if your wards would kill me if I opened the door. I assume they're up."

Rowena looked away for a moment. "Yes, yes they are. And yes, yes they might. That's a good point." She raised her hand and started to mutter something, then stopped. "Would you like breakfast?"

"Normally, yes, but I'd also prefer to make the most of daytime traveling hours," I said. "Sorry."

"No, no, that's alright," she said, waving her hand. Then she muttered something under her breath, something Russian or Slavic at my guess, and I felt the wards shift. "Until next time then." There was a little pause, and then, "Be safe."

"You too. And thank you for the quill."

Rowena nodded, took the furs, and headed back upstairs. I, meanwhile, descended the tower and left, heading out to an ornery Shadowfax. "Yeah, yeah, I know, I forgot about you," I muttered, reaching into one of my saddlebags and pulling out an apple. "Here, take this as an apology."

He did. He also damn near took my fingers off at the same time.

"So friendly," I muttered, waiting for him to finish eating before untying him, saddling him up, and riding him southeast. I had about nine hours of daylight, and I needed to make them count. December and winter would be even worse; I'd have to ask Helga to postpone any non-crucial meetings to the spring.

I really didn't want to get jumped by Mab, whatever my subconscious thought.

Back in July, the trip from house to tower, and back, took about three days. Back in July, I still lived just outside of Dorham; I could also expect sixteen hours of daylight, thereabouts. With the new schedule, the added distance, and the vehement desire to avoid forests, it took five days to go from Rowena's tower to Berkhamsted.

Maybe I should precipitate _some_ kind of confrontation with Mab. Not being able to use the Ways is getting to be a real pain. Mom's exact navigational data is definitely out-of-date, but all the mapping insights she'd put into the ruby were still valid. It was kind of a waste not to use it.

Five days. Five days of pushing harder than normal during the day, then spending long hours next to a fire protected by layers of temporary wards. And every day, it would just get colder and colder, until sometime in January or February, just like it had last year, and the year before that.

Moments like these drove home just how much I'd lost. They made me almost hate Uriel.

Except, now that I thought about it, really thought about it, was that the point? Was thing a long con by Hell or some other force to make me bitter and spiteful? I mean, sure, it was kind of working, but. Ah. Whatever. I'm never going to get a straight answer, I know that.

When I finally made it to Berkhamsted, late on the fifth day, I found a new set of flags flying above the keep. They looked vaguely familiar, though I couldn't exactly place the design. At least it looked more sensible than Robert's bizarro chimera design. Two golden lions on a red field was a lot plainer and less headache inducing.

Yes, yes, obviously I can place the design _now_, as I'm writing. Quiet in the audience.

As I rode in, I considered whether to go back home and settle in for the night, or drop by the castle, make it known I was back, and see what was up with the new flags. After some thought I settled on the latter, reasoning quite reasonably that someone would just come to politely drag me to the castle anyway and so I might as well get it out of the way now. It wasn't like my charms were going to break just because I wasn't there.

Oh, right, forgot to mention that bit: while my heat conducting charms don't need to be constantly powered by me, I do need to keep a close eye on how they're operating, so I've taken to disabling them when I leave my house for longer than a day. Don't want to come back to a burnt-down district and add to my accidental arson record.

I did stop by my house just to check the wards though, to see if anyone had tried to break in. The very outer set of wards, the one I had set to deter thieves, was structured as a simple kinetic push. The more lethal ones were for those without the ability to take a hint. No one had tried yet, but I figured it was a matter of time. In any case, the wards hadn't been disturbed, so I went on to the castle.

From there, I stabled my horse, ran into some guards, they started leading me somewhere, yadda yadda yadda, boring simple semi-routine stuff.

The guards brought me to Robert's meeting room, the small one with the single table and basically no decorations. Besides Robert, there were two other people inside. The first was a long stick figure of a man with a stereotypically aristocratic nose, and thick, wavy black hair, dressed in a blue-on-blue robe over a blue-on-blue tunic. The other was about six feet tall, with short brown hair, and kind of sea-blue eyes. He was wearing a fancy red doublet and long tunic, along with a sort of orange-brown cloak over the top of both.

Every one of them turned to look at me as I walked in the room, and I spared them each a quick glance before stopping beside the table and leaning on my staff. "So what's so important you need to literally bundle me in here Robert?" I asked.

Robert turned an interesting shade, while the brown-haired man raised an eyebrow and the lanky black-haired one scoffed.

"This is my brother," Robert said stiffly. "King William."

* * *

Author's Note: You shouldn't worry about deliberate revisionism on Harry's part, beyond how it may apply to a very select few of Alterna-Harry's lines.


	29. Chapter 3-III

**November 1069**

So, there I was, in a room with the King of England and someone who I soon would identify as Armaund Malfoy, his secret court wizard, and I had just made the best first impression. But don't worry, I salvaged things in a fairly effective manner:

I looked the king up and down and said, "I thought you'd be taller."

William's other eyebrow rose to join his first. "Whereas you, it seems, are as gigantic as rumored." He sounded almost exactly like Robert, only a little less gruff.

"I ate my Wheaties," I said.

His expression grew confused, and in that moment of distracted weakness I nodded politely.

"As I told you, your highness, he's an uncivilized boor," the all-blue man said.

I turned to look at all-blue man and very carefully looked him up and down. "And you, it seems, must be the man with a particularly unfortunate last name. Or maybe particularly fitting. I'm not sure yet."

Malfoy gave me a disgusted look.

"I'll take that as a yes," I said before turning back to William. "What can I do for you, your highness?"

William glanced back over his shoulder at Malfoy – who, I finally noticed, was standing away from the walls and the tables and had his hands folded into his sleeves – before looking back at me. "My advisor informs me that you and some associates of yours wish to found a school on my land."

Oh that son of a bitch.

"Potentially," I said slowly, wondering how much Malfoy knew and how much he had told William. "Our prime location is somewhere in Scotland, actually." I glanced and stared in Malfoy's direction, daring him to say anything about Edinburgh. "I can't really say much more than that at this juncture."

"That may not remain the case for much longer," William said. "King Malcolm of Scotland has been harboring a number of my enemies, including a claimant to my throne."

"Well, be that as it may," I said, not really having a good response to 'I might invade another country in the near future.'

"Be that as it may," William said. "I am still curious as to why this is the first, or I suppose second, I am hearing of this."

"There were and are a lot of practical concerns to figure out first," I said.

"The approval of the sovereign to build on his land was not a practical concern?" he asked.

"Considering we haven't even gotten to the design stage, no, not yet," I said. Then, deciding that playing defense wasn't getting me anywhere, I gestured to Malfoy. "And whatever your advisor may or may not have told you, people like me and him generally stay out of regular politics. When we don't, well, there was that whole mess with King Arthur."

William frowned thoughtfully and turned to look at Malfoy. "I thought that was a story, a myth."

"It's certainly unclear how much is true, and how much is embellishment," Malfoy said after a moment, caught by surprise at the shift in topics and with too many eyes on him to waste time coming up with real bullshit. "But there's certainly some truth to the legends."

"Especially the crazier ones. I've had the… great yet troublesome honor of working alongside one of the wielders of Excalibur, so I can personally attest to that."

Malfoy gave me such a bizarre, confused look that I almost burst out laughing, while both William and Robert looked more normally confused.

"Excalibur is real?" William asked.

I nodded. "More properly called Amoracchius, the Sword of Love. It's a rather important holy sword."

As the confused silence stretched into awkward silence, I pulled back a chair and sat down, and wished that John were here.

"As to the subject of our or my prospective school, there just simply isn't much to talk about right now," I said, trying to turn the conversation back around in my favor. "We don't have a definite idea as to what we wish to create or how, just a vague guiding vision. When we've firmed up the details a little, then it would be time to talk about rights, and obligations, and location, and logistics, and all those details. Right now, it's still just an idea, and we didn't want to waste your time by presenting you with a possibility that we ended up determining to be distinctly impossible after another few months or years of work."

"Mayhaps," William said slowly. "But by the same token, if I disapprove, that is itself an issue you will have to… struggle with."

I suppressed a sigh and nodded.

"Then what is your vague guiding vision?" he asked.

I glanced at Robert, then back at William. "Put simply, a standardized education, practical, ethical, and philosophical, for all those with the gift of magic. To bring people together, and preempt and prevent the rise of warlocks and dabblers in black magic rather than deal with it after the fact."

"A standard put together by outcasts and renegades," Malfoy said. "Like the man in front of you."

"Renegade?" William asked.

"He's just mad I didn't spend two months of my life sailing back and forth to join his club," I said.

"You rejected a summons–"

"They set frankly unreasonable terms and it was entirely unnecessary to travel all that way just to get registered and tested. In fact, I'm fairly certain I'm registered now, after being tested, by my colleagues, following the established guidelines and procedures and tests, who weren't hidebound idiots about the process," I replied. "I can go dig out the stole, if you want." I sighed and turned back to William. "There are two arguments or discussions going on here, King William. The internal policy one between me and Armaund here, and the schooling one between you and me. Considering you must have a great number of responsibilities, one is more pressing than the other."

"Hmm. And what would these students do, after their education was finished?" William asked.

"The same as right now: live their lives, privately. Just with a better grounding and understanding of the world," I said. "Maybe some would choose to serve you, your descendants, your court, so on. Certainly the more battle-minded and inclined would act in the magical defense of your land and people. But if you're implying a more formal and feudal obligation, in general, then that is simply not happening."

After a few moments, William nodded. "I can respect your directness, at least."

"Is that a no?" I asked.

"it is not a yes," he said. "I presently don't see much advantage to allowing such a concentration of force within my lands. But if, as you said, if you are still… designing, then perhaps you will consider that factor, and I will reconsider my opinion." He turned to look at Robert. "In the meantime, brother, you mentioned some issues with your estates in Cornwall."

"Aye," Robert said. "My steward there reports some problems with the destruction of farmsteads and the murder of families that he hasn't been able to solve himself. With the campaign I don't have the time to look into it, unless you mean to have us camp for the winter."

"Quite the opposite," he said, glancing at Malfoy for a moment. "But if it is a problem I could have someone look into it."

Robert grunted and glanced at me. I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes. "Yes, Earl Robert, I can go. Can I have a writ to commandeer some guards in case it turns out to be a mundane case of bandits?"

"And if it isn't?" Robert asked.

"Well, that really depends on what it is. Some of the things that go bump in the night, the only help a group of guards could provide against them is to die first. And I don't like people dying for me," I said.

"Perhaps the two of you should go together, in the event there is a serious problem," William suggested.

That was a horrible idea on so many levels and also something I couldn't reject without seeming unreasonable or getting into things I didn't want to get into.

I should just make a Bingo card for my life. The prize would be extra disappointment.

I held back a sigh and turned to Robert. "Where is your, let's say administrative capital in Cornwall?"

"Trematon Castle," he replied. "Overlooking the Sound at the south edge of the county border with Devon. Everything in Cornwall is west or north of it."

"And your steward there?"

"Reginald de Vautort, who rules the castle in my name," he replied.

"So go to Trematon, Cornwall, talk to Reginald, and see what the problem is," I sighed.

William 'excused' me and Malfoy right out of the room, though we barely made it six feet out the door before I turned around and looked down at him.

"Do you actually have any experience with investigations? Or monster-hunting?" I asked in Latin.

Malfoy blinked once, maybe a little surprised by my switch and grasp of languages, before schooling his expression and giving me the cold politician look. "Do you?"

"Let's see, I've fought and killed faeries, Sidhe, vampires, ghouls, immortal regenerating ghouls, various types of undead, various types of demons, big, small, and very big, warlocks, necromancers, aaand an Outsider," I said. "You?"

Malfoy blinked.

"Oh, right, no, not just an Outsider, he was a Walker."

Malfoy blinked again.

"Thought so," I said. "Now, do you have a horse?"

It took a few moments for Malfoy to recover, at which point he put his politician face back on.

"I don't see how that's any of your concern," he said.

"Well, I mean, I guess it isn't, strictly speaking, but is going to be a pain to walk all the way to Cornwall. Since, you know, revealing the secrets of magic to regular people, like the Ways, is against policy. _Especially_ for personal gain," I said, affecting faux-concern for a few moments before dropping it. "And anyway, I'll be the one with the writ, and I'm going by horse. So if you want to go ahead by the Ways and operate as a vigilante outlaw, go ahead." I shrugged. "Just keep in mind I'll know that, and it's not the king I'll bring my concerns to."

Malfoy didn't narrow his eyes, but they did twitch. It wasn't necessarily a big problem for him; he was closer to the King than I was, so his version of events was more likely to be believed. But appearances also mattered – in multiple respects. Sure, Malfoy could blow me off, head through the Ways, leverage whatever nebulous authority he had, and try to solve the problem himself. Then he could come back, make himself look important to the King, and get one over on me.

Then the White Council would start asking questions like "why you are you being so obvious about the parts of magic we _don't_ want people to know about" and "are you bending the rules for a political benefactor?"

Sure, Malfoy may have been more connected. But even that was bound to be a pain.

That said, if Malfoy did call my half-bluff and tried to beat me to the punch, I would have to counter somehow. Ideally in a more legal and acceptable fashion. Which meant… ugh.

Which meant calling _Salazar_, because the bastard could probably manage the political aspect of this song-and-dance routine while giving me plausible deniability.

Oh God did I just reason myself into enlisting Salazar's help? _Willingly_?

…

I think I just did.

* * *

Author's Note: I reworked this a few times trying to see if there was a way I could get Harry into the Ways without being an idiot in one way or another. The answer turned out to be no.

Extradimensional jaunts and encounters with faerie ex-godmothers will have to wait for another time. Don't worry though; I'll try to fit in an excuse sometime this chapter. In the meantime, you can amuse yourselves with the Old Spice routine, wizard edition.


	30. Chapter 3-IV

**November 1069**

My first stop was John's chapel, muttering a Name the entire way. That, unfortunately, was empty. I hemmed and hawed a bit, still muttering, and decided the next most likely place was the library, and set out in that direction. The air getting progressively colder along the way should've been a clue in and of itself, but I was rather focused at the time. Which is why, when I entered the room, I stopped in surprise at seeing John, Elfleda, and Eva inside.

I think I also blinked.

Elfleda shot first. "You're back," she said, looking up from the table and book she and Eva were sat around.

"Yeah. Don't know for how long though," I said, before turning to John. "Is there spare parchment and something to write with here?"

"There is," he said slowly. "Why?"

"I need to write a letter," I explained.

John looked at the closed window and the lack of light peering through the edges. "Now?" he asked.

I nodded.

He sighed, and moved to a new table in the room, which had one of those small chests sized to fit on a table. There was a simple latch-lock which he put up before opening the chest and briefly yet carefully rummaging around inside. Then he took out a piece of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell.

"Thank you," I said, grabbing all three and moving over to the table by the window, having to crouch down in the process because the table was so far down. I then penned out a quick letter to Salazar explaining the situation to him, asking him to look into it, asking for an urgent reply, and also asking him if he lived in Cornwall. It was a bit of a pointless question, I was going to claim that anyway, but I guess I was curious.

Once that was done, I gave quill and inkwell back to John, grabbed the parchment, and then sat down in an unoccupied chair with a sigh. "I see I missed a lot over the last ten days. Everyone came back, plus some more." I glanced over at Eva, who didn't seem to be melancholy, sad, or grieving. "Your father and brother are alright?"

She nodded. "They are, thank you for asking."

"Good," I said, groaning and stretching. "That's good."

"That's twice now you've departed for a good stretch of time," Elfleda said. "Where did you go?"

"To meet with some colleagues," I said. "We meet, well, every month or two to catch up."

"Rather frequent," she noted. "Considering how long you're gone."

I shrugged. "It is how it is. I see the king's in town."

"Yes, he joined with his brother's host as Robert marched back from Lindsey," John said. "They returned three days ago."

"That must have been hectic," I said.

"It was certainly unexpected," he replied.

Elfleda, meanwhile, was eyeing me curiously. "You met him, didn't you?" she asked.

I looked back at her. "Why do you ask?"

She arched an eyebrow, the one John couldn't see, then winked. "Somehow, I doubt that you are any good with heraldry."

"That's not inaccurate," I hedged.

"How did it go?" she pressed.

I took a deep breath. "Well, I'm still alive and the castle isn't on fire, so… fairly well."

"Such low standards," she said.

"My experience with… important people has been predominantly negative," I said.

Before Elfleda could respond there was a _tap-tap-tap_ against the window, like someone was hitting it with a pointed object. Like a beak.

"Ah, here we go," I said, getting up from my chair and heading to open the window. "That was fast."

"Harry, what are you…" John trailed off as a giant, gray-feathered owl hopped in the moment I opened the window.

I should ask Helga sometime how she got her owl, then I wouldn't have to keep borrowing hers.

"Hello, Hogwig," I said, furling up the parchment and holding it up to him. "I have a letter for Salazar."

The owl gave me a right-angled look before straightening his head and slowly looking around the room.

"Look, I don't have any food for you right now–"

Hogwig screeched.

"Ow," I said, wincing. "I will have extra for you when you come back, which should be later this night since Salazar should respond quickly. And he'll feed you."

Hogwig screeched again.

"Look, just, please, I'm in a hurry," I said, holding out the parchment.

Hogwig swelled and ruffled his feathers, and gave me another right-angled look, this time from the other direction. After a few moments though, he roughly grabbed the parchment out of my hand and flew back out the window. Which I then closed.

When I turned around, everyone was looking at me as I had grown a second head. Eva was also looking excited.

"What was that?" she asked.

"A messenger owl," I said.

"A messenger… owl," John slowly repeated. "That you argued with."

"Yup," I said.

"How does it even know to find this… Salazar?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Heck if I know. He just does. It's magic."

"And can anyone call upon this owl?" Elfleda asked.

"That one? No. He's a friend's, I don't have one of my own," I replied.

"Hmm. And he'll be back with a response tonight, in your opinion," she noted. "How close is this Salazar?"

"Cornwall," I replied.

John, Elfleda, and Eva all looked at each other, then back at me.

"Magic," I repeated, this time with special emphasis. 

* * *

Shortly after that demonstration John got called away to do some job or another, leaving me alone in the small library with Elfleda and Eva. Predictably, Eva was the first to ask a question.

"When do I get my own owl?"

"Sometime after I figure out how to get an owl, and how to keep one," I replied, then gave it some more thought. "But probably not too long after. Unlike with some kinds of magic, the worst thing you can do is have it fly away because you're not looking after it properly. And I suppose it would make a good test of responsibility."

Eva made a sound vaguely akin to a squee.

"Why don't you have one of your own?" Elfleda asked.

"I just didn't see the point previously. I mean, I was a solitary hermit. I see the point now, to keep in touch and so on, but back then?" I shrugged. "Looking after a horse and myself was tough enough. I didn't want to add an owl on top of it."

"Why?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Why was it tough?" she asked. "With your skills you could be a metalworker, a jeweler, a merchant, more."

I sat back and sighed. "I could, I suppose. I could be… a lot more, if I wanted to. I certainly have the options." I looked at Eva. "Something you're going to learn, Eva, is that as you accumulate power, more gets offered to you. I don't think there's a wizard or witch alive or dead that hasn't been offered or is at least aware of a more direct route to power. A lot of them could seem attractive, and some are, but there's always a price." I flexed my gloved left hand, staring at the spot where Lasciel's sigil had been once. "But to tie it back to your implied question, Elfleda, it's because… it's familiar, living like I do, doing what I do."

And that was it, really. I broke some of my rules before coming here, and getting involved in politics and a project as big as the project broke some more, and in comparison to everything I'd done expanding my business a little was barely even an issue. I mean, I was already liberally employing magic in my home and was a court wizard; selling custom-made jewelry to have a more comfortable life was minor next to that. But I also felt adrift. The only familiar faces around were all enemies, and I didn't even get the opportunity to relax and not constantly watch my back. I wanted to hold onto something familiar, because sometimes, I felt like snapping.

And considering just how many bad options I knew I could take, I didn't want to snap.

"I see," Elfleda said.

"I'm not sure you do," I replied. "But I don't really want to get into it."

She nodded slowly. "You said you might be leaving again soon?"

"Depends on what Salazar's response is. There's some maybe-bandit problem down in Cornwall, farmsteads disappearing," I said. "Assuming I do have to go, that'll take… about a month? Riding there and back, however long the investigation takes…" I groaned. "Why didn't I get someone else to do this job?"

"To be closer to me?" Elfleda proposed.

I snorted, then sighed and looked at Eva. "I really need to figure out a better way to teach you. Repeatedly leaving for extended periods of time isn't going to work in the long term."

"Could you not simply fabricate some excuse and take her with you?" Elfleda asked.

Eva looked both nervous and excited at that.

"If I were traveling alone, maybe," I hedged. "But in this case I'm going to be traveling with the king's wizard, Armaund Malfoy."

Elfleda snorted. "Malfoy?"

"Yeah, I know. Why he willingly goes by that name I don't know, it's like hanging a sign that says 'DUNCE' around your head," I said. "You may have seen him. Bit tall, thin, wears all blue, lanky black hair."

"Ah. Yes, I have, briefly," Elfleda said. "You don't wish for him to know about Eva?"

"He's a self-serving as... bastard from what I hear and I don't want to give him any potential leverage," I said, crossing my arms as I turned from Elfleda to Eva. "I think I'll need to speak with my colleagues, see if I can't arrange some kind of rotation. When I took you on I was really expecting to have more free time and not have to gallivant around so much, beyond the monthly meetings, which I intended you to spend with your family." I sighed.

"Do you plan to ride all the way to Cornwall?" Elfleda asked.

"I'm not walking there, if that's what you're asking," I replied.

"Obviously not, but it's a coastal county, is it not? The stretch of land that sticks out to the southwest of this island?"

I nodded slowly.

"Could you not save time by taking a boat, rather than traveling by land?" she asked.

I settled back further and got to thinking. "Well, it's about a day from here to London on horseback, if you push it somewhat. And if you grabbed a boat right after you could. But there would need to be a boat heading west that was either planning to or was willing to stop off at Cornwall, and then there's the matter of payment…" I trailed off, then smiled. "Which actually I don't have to worry about at all. If I tell Malfoy one of my colleagues is already working on the problem he'll want to get there faster, so I can get him to cover the costs." I chuckled. "Yeah, okay, thanks Elfleda, that's a good idea."

She smiled and shrugged.

"That would cut it down to… maybe two weeks, if the Channel's favorable and the investigation doesn't take too long?" I guessed. "Still not great, but it's something." I sighed and stretched. "But, hopefully, Salazar agrees to go on without me and I can get Malfoy to waste his time on his own."

"Do you think that's likely?" Elfleda asked.

"That's why I said hopefully." 

* * *

I was, predictably, woken up in the middle of the night by an insistent knocking against my bedroom window. Actually, I had two, considering the size of the room, so to be more accurate it was the window right above my bed. And it was _loud_.

Damn owl.

"I'm up, I'm up," I grumbled, half-flailing around in the dark before I managed to untangle myself from my bedfurs and open the window. Hogwig immediately flew in and dropped a letter on my head, circling for a bit before spotting the table full of meats and water I'd laid out for him and swooping down on it like, well, an owl.

"Where is, ah," I muttered, looking around by moonlight for a candle. "_Flickum bicus_."

With the bedside candle lit, I shifted in my bed and brought up the note, squinting as I did so.

_I am not doing your work for you, but I will look into this matter. I will find you when you arrive._

_And you will arrive._

_My home is not in Cornwall. My English residence is._

_Do not send me letters in the night again._

_SS  
_  
"Hell's bells," I groaned, then tried to flop back onto the bed. The angle didn't really work though, and I ended up hitting the wall with my back. "Ow."

Hogwig didn't even look up from his meal.

"Just my luck," I muttered, carefully setting the letter down before getting up and moving over to one of my shelves to grab a quill and some ink. Hogwig seemed to notice at some point during the process, because when I turned back around he was giving me a death glare.

"You're going back to Helga aren't you?" I asked, shuffling back to my bed. "And that's a lot of food."

The glare lessened slightly.

I sat down, flipped Salazar's letter around, and started writing on the other side. I penned out a brief letter to Helga asking her to talk with Rowena and see if they could possibly establish a schedule to be substitute teachers for Eva if necessary, and to ignore the back side of the letter. After some thought, I also added,

_P.S. How do you get an owl? Don't send a response, just tell me when we meet again.  
_  
I let the ink dry while Hogwig finished eating and drinking, then furled the letter back up and handed it to Hogwig, who left without any further fanfare.

There was a brief, paranoid moment where I half-expected something or someone to pop out of the darkness and announce itself, like Mab or Lea, and I carefully looked around the room. After confirming it was empty, I blew out the candle and settled back into bed.

After I woke up for the second time, I set about packing a lot of odds and ends for a longer trip. Cloves of garlic, an iron baseball, a long chain of belts, and a few potions I didn't find useful for regular work. Like the blending potion. The last time I'd made that, it had worked really, really well… up until the point people started dying and all my warnings were ignored.

So I didn't use that around people anymore, and considering all of my prior work had involved people, that made it basically useless to me if something happened. But here and now? If I was stalking something in the woods or something like that, the ability to be ignored as part of the background was pretty handy. And it also served as a kind of detection system. Namely, if something saw through it, that was bad news.

Also, it might shut Salazar up. That would be a bonus.

It all went into a great big bag with extra padding, which in turn was going to on Shadowfax. The biter deserved it.

After that, I ate breakfast, grabbed the rest of my stuff, saddled Shadowfax, and headed off to the castle. There, I took the sealed writ from Robert, put it into a bag, and met up with Malfoy. Who seemed to handle a horse rather well, actually. Then we rode off.

It took about an hour of silent, sullen-on-his-end riding before he realized something. "We're going southeast," he said.

"Yup. And Cornwall's in the southwest. I know. But London's a port city, and boats are faster," I said. "I mean, I assume you do want to get this done quickly, right? I mean, I wouldn't mind taking the long, scenic route, it would give more time for my colleague to conduct his investigation."

Malfoy shifted in his seat to mostly-stare, partially-glare at me. "Your colleague?"

"Salazar Slytherin. I sent him a message last night. He's already on the case," I said. "I figured you'd be happy with that. Less time spent traipsing around the countryside."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Salazar is a Spaniard. He cannot reach Cornwall in a timely manner except through the Ways."

"Sure. Which, you know, would be a problem if the king knew for sure that Salazar hadn't been in Cornwall, and thus get suspicious of the short travel time. And that is assuming, of course, Salazar isn't already in Cornwall. Which he is, since he lives there," I said. "Owls are just so useful, aren't they? And a lot safer and kosher to talk about them than the Ways, don't you think?"

Malfoy frowned slightly, probably at my use of 'kosher.' I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't know what it meant; Jewish oppression had been a historical constant for hundreds and thousands of years and probably would be for more, and I didn't have the first clue how to start fixing that.

That was a tangent though. The relevant bit is that kosher became a colloquialism for 'safe' and 'acceptable' and other similar synonyms. Which Malfoy wouldn't know about.

God, I'm bored. Boats suck. There's nothing to do. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Throughout the rest of the day we pushed our horses harder than would have been ideal were we on a longer journey, but as we planned to go by boat the horses would get plenty of time to rest. We got to London about half an hour before twilight gave way to night, rode through the city to the docks, and started hitting up portside taverns to try and find a merchant or fishing vessel that was going west and would be willing to stop at Cornwall.

Or I did at least. Malfoy grudgingly trailed after me, looking around the taverns with veiled disdain and not even taking a seat.

It took us a few hours of barhopping to find a merchant going west, at which point I graciously left the negotiating to Malfoy as it was, after all, his money we were using.

No, I wasn't deriving any enjoyment from watching him negotiate with someone 'beneath him', why do you ask?

I didn't manage to get him to spend the night at that same inn, unfortunately, but that was alright. The first day had gone well enough. Admittedly the bed in the room I stayed in wasn't great, but it was a whole lot better than sleeping outside.

Come morning Malfoy came back from wherever he was staying and we went onto the boat, stabling our horses down below and, in Malfoy's case, leaning on the railing in the front of the ship. Me, I helped a bit with loading the ship. Goodwill rarely hurt.

The rest of the day passed without incident, though Malfoy curiously spent a lot of time either at the front or the back of the ship. I really didn't pay that much attention to him though. The day passed in the aforementioned boredom – I'd brought some texts on magic to pass the time, but the rocking of the boat and the flickering of the candle made it really annoying to try and read – and ultimately I went to sleep.

Am going to sleep. Whatever. 

* * *

"You've been avoiding me."

* * *

Author's Note: Introducing Harry the Hitchhiker, bumming around on Malfoy's dime.


	31. Chapter 3-V

**November 1069**

"Holy shit!" I yelled and immediately scrambled back, only to find out that I wasn't in my bed. Or rather, I was in my bed, just not the bed on the ship – I was in the bed of my room, in my house, back in Berkhamsted.

And there, just on the foot of my bed, sat Mab.

Mab wasn't exactly how I remembered her. I guess even in the case of immortal fairy-tale ur-villainesses, nine and a half centuries is a long enough time to get tired of a certain look. But even with that slight difference, the way Mab looked slightly younger and dressed slightly differently, there was no mistaking her.

She wore a long black negligee, embroidered around the edges by stretches and lines of white that were themselves highlighted by tiny snowflake patterns of frozen blue or glacial green. Its fabric rippled and draped her body perfectly, displaying and emphasizing a perfect balance of curves and planes. The gown was cut low but not extensively so, hinting more than showing. Her skin was as pale as a corpse but without any of the pallor or decay, and she wore a necklace with a single gem that glittered and cycled through deep blue and green and violet iridescence without any particular pattern. Her hair was long, flowing past her hips to pool on the covers of the bed, a stark snow-white contrast to the color of her dress.

This, more than anything, was why Lucille's attempts at seduction fell completely short. Because in comparison to Mab, simple beauty was not enough to control me. Fool and trick me for a while, sure. Not more though.

But then there were the eyes. The eyes were all wrong. Not even in the usual sense of Sidhe having unusual eyes, those of cats or serpents or other animals. Mab's were wide and vertically slitted like a cat's, which was fairly tame all things considered. Even the way they shifted colors in time with the gem around her neck was, ultimately, in line with what one could expect from the Sidhe. No, it was what I saw in those eyes, the lack of compassion or pity, the brimming curiosity and desire, that completely and utterly terrified me.

Mab arched a single, perfect eyebrow at my reaction, and the corner of her lips twitched upwards into the shadow of a smirk.

"Where am I?" I asked, glancing around my room and settling on my staff – and more importantly, my sword. "What did you do to me?"

"Why, nothing, my dear," she said. "You are simply dreaming, and I could not pass up the invitation."

"Wards are generally the exact opposite of an invitation," I said, sitting up in my bed. "And you shouldn't be able to get through my dreamwards." Especially after I started putting a lot of time and effort into improving them just for this eventuality; I no longer had a godmother to cover that front for me, after all.

"They are impressive," she allowed. "But you are not on land, not in a city, not in a room, and certainly not behind any kind of threshold. No, you are on a boat, and the night is dark, the wind biting, and the waters of the sea freezing. You came into my domain, and you did so willingly." She smiled then, a sight as horrifying as it was exciting. "However could I pass up such an invitation, Harry?"

I shivered at her use of my name. It wasn't perfect or even good, not like the time a dragon had taken half my Name and driven me to the ground with the tiniest bit of effort, but it didn't need to be. It was _Mab_; she was terrifying enough even when she wasn't doing anything.

"Yeah, I think I'll pass," I said, snapping out my hand and calling my sword to it. It wasn't a trick I had ever practiced before, but if I was in a dream, then dream-logic would help. And whether it did or not, my sword flew into my hand and I went to swing it around, to point it at Mab's throat – and it stopped just short as my arm simply stopped responding to me.

Mab's smile grew wider. "So defiant, and so impolite. Is appearing in someone's dreams not a sign of desire?"

"That metaphor doesn't cover _invading someone's dreams_," I said, trying to get my arm to move.

"No?" she asked, tapping a finger against her lips. "How dull."

"What do you want?" I asked, wondering if I would have to resort to soulfire. I really, really didn't want to do that, not in front of Mab; the odds she wouldn't recognize it were astronomically low, and then things would get very, _very_ interesting for me. In the Chinese sense.

"You," she said, stretching out a hand and brushing one finger against the curve of my jaw.

I clenched my teeth. "Then just get it over with."

She laughed, the sound rich and cold, and she started to move, getting up on the bed and crawling over me. "My dear, if I wanted to take you, there is absolutely _nothing_ you could do." She whispered that last part into my ear before leaning further to nip the lobe, and I shivered in a mix of desire and terror. Then she pulled back until she was just straddling me, still smiling. "But that is so… simplistic, so trivial. No, I want you to _want_ me." She started trailing a finger down my chest. "But it has also become apparent to me that you are too honorable and traditional to fall to seduction, and so I must try another tack." She pushed my arm out of the way and forced my hand to open, dropping the sword onto the floor, and then she got up and off of me. "I think you will find it more comfortable, more familiar to pursue me. To come to me when you are ready, when you are willing, when you are…" She leaned in, enough to give me a view down her dress. "_Desperate_."

"And why the hell do you think I would ever do that?" I growled.

She laughed again. "Desire, my dear. Lust. Power. Frustration. Relief. _Need_." Her smile widened even further, to a full Cheshire grin. "I know not how you escaped my retreat, but it demonstrated a capable combination of knowledge, skill, and instinct. How painful it must be for you, to be denied the Ways. How wasteful."

"Get out of my head," I said through gritted teeth. "And stay out."

"That, I cannot promise," she said. "Only you can know what thoughts and desires pass through your head. But I will promise you this: you will not see me again, Harry, until you will it." Her tone changed then, from a sensual sort of drawl to a lustful growl. "Until you make it so."

"Get. Out."

She leaned back and laughed, and the echoes of that laughter haunted me for the rest of the night.

I woke up in a cold sweat and immediately checked my room, looking for any signs of forced entry, any disturbance in the wards. There was nothing to show that Mab had ever been there. Nothing, except a low, painful throbbing in the lobe of my left ear.

"Fucking boats," I muttered.

Did Elfleda know this was going to happen? I doubted it; she didn't seem that 'in' with the Winter Court, so to speak, and even I didn't know Mab's reach apparently extended to the ocean. Which raised interesting questions of how I ended up dying despite falling into Mab's realm back home, but those questions were really, really not important in the face of a far simpler one:

Had Elfleda betrayed me?

I didn't want to believe that, obviously, but I couldn't rule out the possibility. Maybe Mab had threatened her, maybe Elfleda had suggested a boat of her own volition knowing Mab would show up. Maybe. Or maybe Elfleda was just trying to be helpful and didn't know that Mab could bypass all my wards and defenses the moment I fell asleep on a boat. Or even the moment I set foot on a boat, depending on how I interpreted Mab's statement.

But whatever the case was with her, there wasn't anything I could do about it at the moment.

Mab was a different problem, a much more immediate and also long-term problem. Sure, _Mab_ wouldn't appear to me anymore, but she'd said nothing about the rest of her court. She'd also only implied that if I had sex with her, I could use the Ways again; she hadn't said it. In all likelihood, if I succumbed and called her up, she would pull back Winter. For a time, anyway, until the next time she wanted sex. It was like negotiating with terrorists; you just didn't, else you legitimize them.

Admittedly, a part of me did want to take her up on the offer. I mean, sex with the most beautiful woman in the world in exchange for power? For the ability to go where I wanted, when I wanted? To not have to while away days upon days of my time traveling around? The primal part of me was all for that.

The logical part of me wasn't. I knew that if I let Mab walk over me in this instance, then that was it. Maybe not right away, maybe not for a while, but then she would know she could manipulate me. Threaten the things I wanted, the things that were important to me, and get concessions. Eventually, I'd end up her Knight again in all but name – maybe even in name. And that's not getting into the potential consequences of the act of sex itself. I'd asked around, discretely, and Maeve wasn't around right now.

I did not want to be her father.

And something she hadn't mentioned, but that became apparent with thought, was the implicit promise that I would never be free of my obligation to her until I had sex with her. Because if she wouldn't come to me unless I called, then she'd never cash in that last favor.

I was, don't pardon the expression, well and truly fucked.


	32. Chapter 3-VI

**November 1069**

On the second day, Malfoy again spent most of his time either at the front or the back of the ship, and this time I was actually bored and curious enough to walk up to him. As I did so, I felt the slow ebb and flow of magic, and stretched out my senses to figure out what Malfoy was doing.

To my slight surprise, it was being useful.

He was cycling in small amounts of magic, enough to keep going for hours at a time, and releasing them from his wand. Which curiously enough looked like it was made of metal, shining like a mix of copper and mercury. He made small, repetitive motions like the rowing of an oar only in miniature, and hummed a low tune under his breath.

It was, I grudgingly admitted, impressive. Flowing water washed away magic, and even floating over water made it difficult to gather energy. Affecting water was another thing. And yet, for all that what Malfoy was doing wasn't terribly impressive power-wise, the fact that he was consistently churning the water around the boat to make it just that bit faster, and was keeping it up, that was worth some recognition. I guess he wasn't just a ponce.

Not that it made me like him or anything. No, he was still an asshole. Just not a useless one.

"Impressive," I said in Latin, leaning on the rail next to Malfoy. He spared a brief glance for me, but didn't stop working. "Is water magic your forte, then?"

He didn't say anything in response.

"Alright, don't go into detail, but if whatever we find ends up being dangerous having some grasp of what we're both capable of could be useful," I said, shrugging. "My specialty's evocation. Fire, kinetic force."

Malfoy paused, and then glanced at me. "A brute, then."

"Bad Faith, I made and maintained an entire thaumaturgical model for a city. Just because my specialty is in blowing stuff up doesn't mean that's all I can do," I said. "And you still haven't answered my question."

Malfoy's eyebrows twitched at my deliberate translation of his name. "Yes. Water magic is my area of expertise."

"Now we're getting somewhere," I said. "So, entropy magic? Shields, blasts, that kind of thing?"

"Yes," he said curtly.

"Well, I'm familiar with that, at least." Granted, the last user of water magic I knew, Ramirez, was a far sight friendlier and more useful, but through him I was fairly familiar with how Malfoy might fight. Also granted, Ramirez had mixed in pistols with his style, something Malfoy couldn't do, but, well, we all have to make do in our own ways.

That was the sum total of our interactions during the boat ride, which all in all ended up only taking three and a half days rather than the more expected four or five. The captain was a bit mystified as to how that happened, but neither I nor Malfoy bothered to explain. We just repacked our bags, saddled our horses, and disembarked at the small port town of Fowey. Considering it was late we – that is, I – spent some time asking around for directions to Trematon Castle, which turned out to be a heavy day's ride to the north-east.

We stayed the night, and then rode off.

Malfoy never mentioned Salazar, and I didn't feel inclined to either. However, unlike Malfoy, I was interested in how Salazar would actually find me. The simple answer was by having Trematon Castle under observation, but how, when? What happened if he didn't spot me? Would I have to summon Hogwig again?

That question bugged me all the way to Trematon Castle right up until we were riding up to it. There, in the branches of a tree by the road to the gate, hidden fairly well but not entirely, was a small green snake. It looked at me as I came into view, its head swiveling to follow me, and I briefly glanced back at it. Then we were past the tree, and approaching the gate.

Unlike Berkhamsted, Trematon Castle was not part of a village. There was a village nearby, down by the shore of the River Tamar, but it was distinctly separate, both by distance and the lack of proper walls. The castle itself was also fairly small, a small circular structure almost like a squat tower built atop a motte. It didn't look terribly cozy.

Getting past the guards took a bit of work and back-and-forth yelling. For all that we claimed to be on business for the king and the earl, we didn't exactly look typical, and there was some discussion amongst the guards, which I Listened in on, before one of them went inside to get Reginald.

I really wanted to call him Jeffrey, but I figured that wouldn't be appreciated and he hadn't done anything to deserve it.

After a few minutes we were let into the cramped courtyard where we dismounted and waited another few minutes. Eventually, the front doors of the keep opened and a man dressed in a brown tunic and heavy fur cloak walked out. He was of slightly above average height, with short blond hair, a small collection of scars on his face, and a nose that looked like it had been broken a few times. Despite that, he didn't look all that ugly.

"Right, who are you?" he asked in French as he walked up.

I cut in before Malfoy could. "I am Harry Dresden, and this," I nodded my head in Malfoy's direction, "is Armaund Malfoy. We're here on business for Earl Robert and King William respectively, to look into the murders and attacks around these parts." As I finished, I held out the writ I'd gotten from Robert. "Are you Lord Reginald de Vautort?"

"I am," he said with a grunt.

"Then this is for you."

"Hmph." He took the writ, checked the seal, and then to my slight surprise, broke it open and started trying to read it, squinting and angling it around to catch the fading light. After one readthrough, a slight pause, and a second readthrough, he grunted, furled it back up, and gave it back to me.

"Alright," he said. "Just the two of you?"

I nodded. "Can we stay for the night? I'd rather not start looking for the attackers at night, that seems a stupid way to die."

"Damn right it is, especially lately," he said.

"Whatever do you mean?" Malfoy cut in.

Reginald turned to look at Malfoy and gave him a once over. "I lost an entire patrol two days ago, men and horses both butchered like animals, then eaten." He looked like he wanted to spit, then decided he was going to anyway. "Bloody wrong is what it was. Barely enough left to bury."

That was a lot more concerning than sporadic attacks on farmsteads. Equally horrible, but there was a difference between creatures that attacked small, isolated groups and those that attacked, butchered, and then ate a small group of armed men. With horses.

"What did you do with the remains?" I asked quickly.

"Loaded them up on carts and brought them back. Plan to bury them tomorrow."

"Can we have a look?" Malfoy asked.

Reginald looked at me, then Malfoy, then the writ in my hands. Then he shrugged. "Why not. This way."

He did not lead us into a crypt. I doubted the castle even had a crypt. What he did do was lead us into a detached storage area set into the rather thick walls of the castle. There was a single guard lounging by the door, who stood up as we approached before opening the door and moving away from it.

I didn't blame him.

The smell hit us a few moments later, and both Malfoy and I gagged, while Reginald's face just shriveled up in disgust and revulsion. He stopped by the door, took off a lit torch that was hanging in a sconce by the door, and passed it to me. "Take your time. Not like they're going anywhere."

I managed a, "thank you," and then grudgingly stepped inside, torch in hand. Malfoy followed me in a few moments later.

Butchered was definitely the right word to describe what had happened to these men. Limbs and bodies had been torn apart, some evidently dragged off, and whatever parts weren't gnawed down to the bone were rotten. The remains were laid out in eight rough groupings, though how the castle guards had matched body part to body part was beyond me.

"Well, we're dealing with something cannibalistic," I said.

"What a remarkable grasp of the obvious," Malfoy said, tentatively approaching a mostly whole arm while scrunching up his nose.

"What were these men armed and armored with?" I called out.

"The usual. Swords, spears, shields. Two _milite _and six _pedite_. Mail and leather, respectively."

"That reduces the likelihood of faeries," I said in a quieter tone. "Attacking eight men armed with iron's a hard sell without a hard goad. Even trolls aren't that stupid, usually."

"Whatever they are, they're not just cannibals," Malfoy said, pulling back from the arm he'd been checking out. "There's barely any blood."

"Could have just spilled out," I posited, slowly reaching out with my gloved hand to move the severed arm around. "But there's no discoloration or liver mortis. You think they were exsanguinated before death."

Malfoy looked around at the mostly-bone remains. "Difficult to tell," he said dryly.

"Haha," I said. "Ghouls are a safe bet. They don't care about iron more than anything else. Don't tend to drink or squeeze out blood though."

"Perhaps a revenant, or a draugr?" Malfoy suggested.

"I could see it being a corpse-vampire, but a draugr? In southwest England?"

"The Danes get everywhere," Malfoy said.

"I suppose. Would explain how whatever this was killed a whole patrol, at least." I left the arm alone and moved back to the doorway, leaning out to look at Reginald. "Were there any other bodies, any sign of the attackers?"

"None that could be found," he said.

"Was there a lot of blood? Considering all the dismemberment?" I asked.

He frowned and looked over his shoulder. "I would not know. You would have to ask those who found the remains."

"And they are?"

Reginald turned around and yelled out a number of names, which was followed by some shuffling, opening and closing of doors, and finally a group of men trickled out of the keep and the walls and headed in his direction.

"These men are here to look into the attacks," Reginald said, nodding at me and pointing at Malfoy with his thumb. "While they're here, you're at their disposal."

That was unexpected, and none of the men looked particularly pleased by that news. I also wasn't sure I wanted them either, really. More men had gone up against whatever was killing people out there and hadn't accomplished much.

"When you found the bodies, was there a lot of blood? Or just the body parts?" I asked, looking at the man who seemed to have the nicest cloak out of all of them.

Said man furrowed his brow, then shook his head. "No, there was not much blood."

"Huh." I looked at Reginald. "We're going to stay the night. Then, in the morning, I'd like to see where the attack took place, see if I can find any clues."  


* * *

Author's Note: It says something about mythology that "savage cannibal" _really_ doesn't narrow down the list of suspects.


	33. Chapter 3-VII

**November 1069**

We left shortly after eating breakfast, riding and walking out as a column of men. I rode at the front along with Hubert, the leader of this little group, while Malfoy rode further back. We passed under the tree and the tree-snake, and then kept on going. We rode for about an hour, the latter half of which took us through a somewhat winding forest road, before we came to the sight of the attack.

There wasn't much left; a few bones, the broken and half-eaten head of a horse, along a number of shattered branches, scattered leaves, and one fallen tree. The stench of decay that permeated the area just drove in the point further. The horses were nervous, and I couldn't blame them.

"Alright," I said, getting off Shadowfax and moving towards the decapitated remains. "Let's see what we got." I crouched down next to the head, wrinkled my nose at the smell, and looked around.

Not the best site for an ambush, in my opinion. The section of road here was fairly straight, the woods weren't very thick, and it was all very flat. That ruled out most ambush predators; even if some could take on a group of armed men all on their own, instinct was a powerful thing. There had been a lot of better spots on the way to this point, which suggested that a) something had been stalking them and gotten bored, b) this had been an attack of opportunity, or c) the patrol had come upon something that violently objected to being discovered or interrupted.

There was a good amount of dried blood around the severed head, particularly the neck, which meant that whatever haemophage was running around preferred human blood. Not terribly surprising, all things considered; consumption of blood was usually a medium for consumption of life force, and most supernatural predators that ate that way preferred humans.

Sometimes, learning about magic sucked. Knowing just how many creatures liked to eat humans and why was part of that.

I got up and slowly circled the horse, idly dragging my staff along the dirt road. I made a full rotation, willed the circle into being, and then kept walking so the soldiers would get the wrong impression. As I did so, I stretched out my arcane senses, which were constrained by the circle, and tried to sense anything about the severed head. Death tended to leave its mark in various ways.

It took a few moments for me to parse what I was sensing, and then a few more to move past the obvious and unremarkable markers of death to anything less... normal still clinging to the remains after at least three sunrises. After that though, the conclusion was fairly obvious.

"Well?" Malfoy asked, having walked right up to me sometime in the past minute, though he hadn't broken the circle.

I shot him an irritated look as my concentration wavered. "Remnants of magic. Not the regular kind." I frowned. "Feels like necromancy, sort of. Greasy and foul."

"Revenant or draugr, then, as I said."

I hummed and turned around to look at Hubert. "You don't do nighttime patrols, right?" I asked, pitching my voice louder.

"Only of the walls," he cried back.

"Not all revenants are discomfited by sunlight," Malfoy said in a lower tone.

"Sure. But whichever one did this, if one did this, felt confident enough to attack a group of eight armed men. That rules out the ones that are."

Corpse-vampires, or revenants, or auto-possessing ghosts, or whatever you want to call them, didn't seem to follow many rules, at least the way Rowena told it. I'd asked her about some of them shortly after we'd met, trying to obliquely patch some of the holes in my knowledge. The Black Court had replaced the older type rather definitively, and they were a lot more… standardized.

The only general rules for corpse-vampires were that they couldn't cross thresholds, drank blood and ate human flesh, and were generally stronger and tougher than they were in life. Other weaknesses, like garlic, sunlight, obsessive counting, holy water, and so on were less reliable, possibly psychosomatic. Though, admittedly, holy water was harder to acquire nowadays, so maybe it just hadn't been tested that often; you couldn't just buy some from your local clued in or bemused priest, after all.

Though maybe I could get some from John, make it a part of my emergency kit. Would be useful.

That said, a corpse-vampire rubbed me the wrong way. If farmsteads were disappearing, but not burning down or getting damaged, that meant that either people were being attacked and killed in the day, or something was breaking in at night, past the threshold. And while a reanimated corpse could easily take a couple, and maybe their children, eight armed men was a different matter.

"Revenant doesn't fit," I finally said. "One on eight? Not without an edge. And it couldn't get past thresholds either to get at the families that have disappeared."

"Wouldn't need to if it could move around during the day."

"Sure, but." I waved around at the area. "One on eight. I've fought necromantically animated corpses before. They're tough, sure, strong and fast, but not that strong. So there had to be something more."

"Then call it a draugr, until disproven," he said.

"Not really how investigations work. You may assume a particular cause, but you generally try to prove notions, not disprove them," I said. "And if it is a draugr we've got a problem."

The short version of draugr, or draugar as I think the plural was, was that they were Scandinavian zombie wizards. That missed a lot of nuance, but also adequately captured just how big of a threat they were. Sure, myths and stories didn't usually credit them with the full breadth of a typical wizard's capabilities, but they were capable of enough to be terrifying, even to most wizards.

Most wizards didn't have the Dummy's Guide to Grand Necromancy in their head.

Now, granted, I didn't want to use that knowledge for a number of reasons. Necromancy was an inherently dark art; even using it in legal ways and towards good ends was a massive gray area. Frankly, I'm pretty sure I only got away with animating Sue because there was an apocalypse going on and I technically hadn't broken the Fifth Law; on a better day, forget Morgan, _Luccio_ might have censured me. With her sword. And if Salazar or Malfoy, especially Malfoy, saw me use necromancy, there would be a lot of awkward questions. Too many.

But, as much as I didn't want to use it, I also couldn't forget about that ace in the hole. And faced with the choice of someone dying – even Malfoy – or using it, I would. I just hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"Now the real question is what we're going to tell them," I said. "Are we going to mention draugr or revenants?"

Malfoy snorted. "Why bother? They're mundanes; they're completely irrelevant in a conflict like this."

I shot him a really flat look. "They're people. And the whatever may not necessarily be alone. If it is a draugr, do you want to worry about any ghouls it may have attracted at the same time?"

"If there were ghouls, the men weren't very effective, were they?" he asked, waving around.

I sighed and looked away. "Something about this is off. It was assumed to be a bandit problem, people consistently disappearing without a trace for long enough to word to filter up to… the earl. Except now, when we get here, a whole group of armed men have died. Why? What prompted the change?"

"Maybe all the local farmsteads ran out," Malfoy said dryly.

"Malfoy, shut the fuck up," I snarled. I broke the circle and started pacing. "Sudden escalation doesn't happen without a cause. Now, maybe we've got a second predator, maybe the first is limited in its rangings and is getting more desperate, maybe it's just gotten bolder. But we still need to figure out the why, because that helps narrow down the what."

This would be a lot easier if I had Bob. Just let him loose, find the lair of whatever was causing this, get his opinion, and then go kick its teeth in. But I didn't have Bob, I didn't know how to find him, and more, I didn't know if Bob was even around. He must have existed in some form before Etienne the Enchanter bound him, but that just put a lower limit on his age, sometime around the time of the Inquisition which, oh, right, _shit_. I'm actually going to have to deal with that, assuming I don't die of heroism-related stupidity before that.

Great. Just great.

Anyway. Bob. The trouble with Bob was that I was the one that gave him his name, or at least his latest name. If he had a name before Bob, I certainly didn't know it – and to actually summon him, I needed that name. Otherwise, I was looking for a single spirit of intellect in the entirety of the Nevernever. That's like looking for a needle in a haystack made out of more haystacks. Fractal haystacks.

I knew he had beef with Mab. That was about the only thing I could go on to find him. And that just really wasn't enough on its own.

I stopped pacing and moved back to the column of men, stopping by Hubert and his horse.

"Well?" he asked.

I sighed, looked around, and glanced back over my shoulder at Malfoy, who was making his own inspection of the head. Then I lowered my voice. "Would you believe me if I said a walking corpse?"

Hubert's late-twenties, mustachioed face made a disturbed expression. "A week ago, I would have said no," he said slowly.

"And now?"

Hubert looked past me, at the severed head. "I don't know."

"Do you know where all the attacks happened? Before this, I mean," I said, waving at the head.

He shook his. "No. Just around here. Lord Reginald might know."

I clicked my tongue. "Annoying. Were any of the attacked farmsteads near the castle, or the village that's nearby?"

"Trematon. And some," he said with a nod.

I looked around the woods and reached out with my arcane senses again, trying to get a feel for if Salazar was around. I didn't find him, though, really, I also didn't expect that to work. Salazar, for all his personal faults, struck me as someone too smart and intelligent to go around flashing a neon sign saying "MAGIC HERE" for all with the Sight to see. I mean, hell, _I'd _never done that, and I'd done some really crazy things.

"Then we're going to Trematon," I said.

"Why?" Hubert asked, though it was a curious why rather than an indignant why.

"Because the people in charge of any place usually ignore folk superstitions until something's staring right at them," I replied. "And I'd like to find out what folk tales are told around here."

* * *

Author's Note: Man, I wish Skyrim draugr were closer to mythological draugar. Then they'd actually be, you know, interesting and fun and challenging to fight, rather than pushover zombies (except for the Fus-Ro-Dah'ers). Granted, "pushover" zombies describes basically 99% of Elder Scrolls enemies, considering the only real scaling is in HP and damage, but my point stands.


	34. Chapter 3-VIII

**November 1069**

The journey to Trematon took a little over an hour, the village being about a mile and a half past the castle. It wasn't yet noon but it would be soon, and with that lunch time. In a village the size of Trematon, population two to three hundred at a glance, that meant the pub would be pretty full. A good place to pick up rumors, folk tales, and superstitions.

Really, only the former two were useful, but everyone had some of the latter and were sometimes keen to share. _Really_ keen.

Malfoy joined me in the pub, though his general silence and lack of contribution made me wonder what his game was. So far he wasn't doing much to outshine me, just cooperating in his own infuriating way, which made me think he was planning on getting through this alive and with some credit to his name that he could then blow out of proportion. And I didn't quite know how to address that yet; I'd need to, ugh, get Salazar's opinion.

Overall the combined lunch investigation took two hours and produced one okay meal and a ton of information, only some of it useful. Some amount of overheard village gossip, most of which was either medieval sitcom material or depressing depending on whether the people they were talking about were alive or dead, a mixed bag of regional history claiming Danish viking raiding sometime in the past which wasn't surprising, a more useful set of tales regarding some Danish viking barrows a day or two out west, and a number of statements saying the disappearances had been happening for months and generally seemed to happen at night.

That told me a few things: there were almost certainly two predators, one more potent than the other, and the local lord was either incompetent or whatever predator or group of predators was going around hunting down solitary farming families could travel without being easily detected.

Now, that wasn't as helpful as I would have liked, but to my, uh, something, mixed bag of emotions really, Salazar walked into the pub near the end of the two hours, looking a decade younger and decidedly less leather and snake-y, and immediately headed to the corner table I'd eaten my lunch at.

"Hello," I said, deciding that I would at least try to be polite and present a common front in front of Malfoy.

"Harry," he said, taking a seat before looking at Malfoy. "Armaund, presumably."

"Salazar, presumably," Malfoy replied. He glanced between me and Salazar, eyes slightly narrowed, as if comparing and contrasting us. We both glared at him for that.

Off to a great start.

"So what have you found out?" I asked.

"Revenant and two ghouls," he said, settling down and not motioning to the bartender or waitress. "They were splitting farmers and travelers according to their dietary preferences. I dealt with them."

My eyebrow started twitching.

"How so?" Malfoy asked, evidently as annoyed but hiding it better.

"I located a number of outlying houses and farmsteads and set watches on all of them. When one was attacked, I responded. By the time I arrived they were busy feeding, and so missed my presence. Then they died."

That got an appraising look out of Malfoy and a dirty look out of me, washing away the annoyance. I grit my teeth, worked my jaw, and tried to find a response that didn't involve punching Salazar for being a cold-hearted bastard.

"Effective," Malfoy said, his tone one of grudging admittance.

I resolved then to sucker punch both of them at some point.

"When was this, exactly?" I asked, my voice tight.

"Three nights ago," Salazar said.

I did some quick mental math to distract myself from the desire to punch him in the face. "You missed something," I said.

"Really? What?" he asked.

"A patrol of men, slaughtered three days past now. They were exsanguinated," Malfoy cut in.

Salazar frowned. "During the day?"

Malfoy nodded.

"Hmm." He leaned back and crossed his arms. "That's different. The two ghouls were average at best, and the revenant couldn't strike in the day. They couldn't have done that, not unless the patrol was two men only, three at most."

"Eight. Two riders, six on foot," Malfoy supplied.

"Definitely not, then," Salazar said.

"We think it might be a draugr," I said, ignoring Malfoy's look. "Or at least something necromantic."

"A daywalking draugr," Salazar said, reaching up to stroke his slight, graying beard. "I haven't found any traces of such a creature."

"They drive animals crazy, right?" I asked.

Both Malfoy and Salazar nodded, though only Salazar got what I was driving at. Which, really, I should've left it at that, but I was feeling annoyed and pissed at Salazar, so I went a step further and voiced my thoughts.

"If you were tracking the attackers through animals somehow, you wouldn't have gotten solid information," I said.

Salazar gave me a look, while Malfoy arched an eyebrow at Salazar.

"Unless you just came up with an idea in the past minute," I said, pausing a little to see if Salazar would chip in, "then I think we need to see if it is a draugr. And if it isn't, then we need to pull out bigger... measures to try and find whatever this second attacker is."

"And do you know where to look?" Salazar asked, tone a little dry.

"There is a supposed Danish barrow a day's ride or walk to the west, in the foothills," Malfoy said.

Salazar looked at Malfoy, looked at me, then unfolded his arms. "Then go return your escort. They'll only get in the way. While you're doing that, I'll start my investigation. I'll rejoin you after you've left the castle."

I waited until Salazar had gotten up from his chair and was turning to leave before I asked, "Hey, Salazar, you're not a Spaniard right?"

Salazar turned and gave me a very dirty look.

"Good, I thought so. Was just a little confused because Malfoy here said it so confidently."

Salazar turned his look on Malfoy, who suddenly looked like someone confronted with an oncoming train.

"I'm Navarran, you imbecile," Salazar spat. Literally. He spat.

That made me blink. That seemed rather intense for what I thought was a simple case of mistaken cultural origin. It felt personal, like someone Spanish had wronged him in particular.

Well, at least it demolished, bulldozed, burnt, salted, and ashed the budding camaraderie between Malfoy and Salazar. That was a plus. 

* * *

"You wish to forgo the men I have seconded to you," Reginald said slowly, looking at Malfoy.

Seeing as how I didn't agree with the idea, not completely, I'd graciously handed off all responsibility for selling the idea to Reginald as something that wasn't insane to Malfoy.

"Your men have been helpful and gracious, but I believe that they will be of limited use against that which has already savaged one of your patrols," Malfoy said smoothly. "I would not want them to lose their lives, however bravely."

"And what has killed my men, then?" Reginald asked, turning in his seat to glance at me. "And why have the king and the earl sent you two, and only you two, to deal with this matter?"

I made a fist, flicked my thumb in the reverse of the motion it took to spark a lighter, and muttered, "_Flickum bicus_."

A small flame sprang into being above my thumb, drawing a wide-eyed look from Reginald.

"We're specialists in the strange and supernatural," I said, letting the fire wink out a few seconds later.

Reginald crossed himself, and Malfoy shot me a tired glance over the lord's shoulder. I looked back at Malfoy with a "well?" expression.

"As my... associate has demonstrated," Malfoy said, his tone still smooth and polite, "we are uniquely capable to solve your current problem. Your men are undoubtedly capable, but there is little they can do against a foe that ignores mundane arms."

"How? Why?" Reginald asked, his voice progressively becoming steadier and more indignant. "What has killed my men?"

"We believe it to be a draugr," Malfoy said. "It is a kind of revenant, the walking corpse of an especially evil and foul Dane. They are stronger than a man in every physical sense, have dark magic at their command, and some are proof against all mundane weapons. This particular draugr may not be so resilient, but even so, it slew eight of your men. Another six will not help."

Reginald slowly turned to look at me.

"Everything Malfoy said is true," I said. "Draugr are strong, tough, magical, and potentially invulnerable to whatever weapons you have. If it is a draugr, your men will probably be useless, if not actively harmful. Draugr like to try and drive men insane. That said, in the event it isn't a draugr, or if we run into someone or something else while we're searching for the draugr, their presence would be helpful. And if, in the worst case, the draugr beats us, or it turns out to not be a draugr, they'll be able to warn you sooner."

"And if you are beaten," Reginald asked slowly, "what do I do? What do we do?"

I winced at a sudden headache and rubbed at my temples. "Try wrestling."

Reginald looked at me as if I was crazy. "What?"

"Assuming it is a draugr, it can be wrestled back into its grave or barrow, where it can be laid to rest. And then, once it's back to being a corpse, dismembered. Now, wrestling a corpse that's stronger than any given two men is a challenge, but if we die, it will be your only remaining option."

Reginald continued to give me the crazy look.

"Like I said. Strange and supernatural," I said.


	35. Chapter 3-IX

**November 1069**

The final split was that all the footmen stayed behind and the two knights, or _milites_, or _milite_, or whatever, went with us. I also managed to snag a "backup horse" for Salazar. Hubert and his unfortunately redshirted friend Henri didn't look too pleased to be following us on their own, but to their credit they rode out with us without complaint.

It took us a few minutes along the western coastal road to get out of sight of the castle. About a minute later, we came by Salazar standing by the side of the road, looking like he normally did – that is, older and leathery. He took one glance at us and made a face.

As we cantered up to him, I waved in his direction. "This, sirs, is my… companion, Salazar. He's been doing some independent investigation."

"That explains why you argued for the extra horse," Hubert said. "Why not just tell Lord Reginald the reason?"

"They haven't even fully explained why we're going with them," Henri grumbled.

New opinion: I loved these guys.

"Yes, why are they going with us?" Salazar asked archly, stressing that last word.

"Conditional backup, and an early warning system for the others if things go horribly wrong," I explained.

"That makes me feel so relieved," Henri muttered.

"And look, I got you a horse," I said, gesturing at the rouncey we'd loaded up with some supplies.

Salazar made a sound that was somewhere between a sigh of disgust and a groan of annoyance. "Fine. Let's just get going."

"What are we hunting?" Hubert asked once Salazar had mounted the horse and we started off again.

Seeing as how Salazar looked like wanted to ignore them out of existence and Malfoy was still feeling jumpy around Salazar, it fell to me to explain. "Our current going theory is a draugr," I said, glancing over my shoulder at the two knights. We were riding in a kind of wedge formation, me at the front, knights behind me, Malfoy and Salazar behind them.

I saw Hubert and Henri quickly glance at each other before looking back at me. "That a kind of walking corpse?" Hubert asked, drawing another, longer look from Henri.

"Basically," I said. "The slightly longer explanation is undead wizard."

The look the two knights gave me was a cross between bewildered and unamused.

"They're stronger, tougher, faster, can turn into various animals, and some are immune to weapons. We have no clue if this one is."

Hubert and Henri both looked at all of their weapons – namely spear and sword – before looking back at me. "And how are we supposed to contribute?" Henri asked.

"Ideally, you won't have to. Ideally. Less ideally, the draugr isn't immune, and so you can try stabbing. Even less ideally, you have to try wrestling and pinning."

"Like the Nemean Lion?" Hubert asked. "Ignoring that we're not Heracles."

I thought about that for a few moments, then nodded. "Yeah, basically. Only since it's dead it won't need to breathe, so throttling it won't do anything." I shifted further in my saddle. "Gotta say, I'm a bit surprised we've moved past the magical walking corpse bit without any yelling or denials."

"Would it do any good?" Hubert asked.

"Might make you feel better," I said with a shrug.

"Going back and forgetting about this death march would make me feel better," Henri said.

"You can if you want," I offered.

Henri thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "If it is what you say it is, I die either way. Unless I run for the east and don't look back." He rolled his shoulders. "If it's an animal, how can we tell?"

I looked further at Malfoy, who sighed. "It will be very obvious. Flayed skin, broken back, mutilated ears, blue eyes, missing tail, some combination of these features."

"How can it move with a broken back?" Hubert asked.

"Magic," I replied.

"That's not really an explanation," Hubert said.

"Magic's rules are often weird and outwardly nonsensical. Like the requirement that a loup-garou be slain by a piece of inherited silver. Oh!" I snapped my fingers and looked at Malfoy. "I forgot the loup-garou!"

Malfoy looked at me with wide eyes. "You claim to have fought a loup-garou," he said slowly.

"And killed it, eventually," I said.

Speaking of which, I should look into the MacFinns at some point, when I had the time to take an extended trip to Ireland. A hereditary loup-garou curse was worth checking out, if only to confirm that the story I'd been told regarding its origin was wrong and there wasn't some poor guy cursed to turn into a killing machine every month. And if there was, well, maybe I could set up a heavy-duty containment circle for him and his descendants.

Malfoy slowly turned his head to look at Salazar, briefly forgetting about the one-way enmity. "Is he insane?" he asked.

"Quite," Salazar said, his enmity also briefly forgotten. "The only question is how much."

I deliberately ignored them and instead focused on the knights. "Look, you're here for mainly two reasons. If it is a draugr, and you can't help, then to carry back word of our failure as fast as you can. And if it isn't a draugr, to carry back word of what it is and how to deal with it, assuming we fail."

"And what would our chances be, in that scenario?" Henri asked.

"Pretty abysmal," I admitted. Then I frowned. "Actually, give me a second." I brought Shadowfax to a halt and quickly started rummaging through my saddlebags. "Did I make and pack that… yep, here it is." I closed the flap of the saddlebag and turned back to the knights. "Okay, which one of you is more comfortable with the idea of wrestling a walking corpse?"

Hubert and Henri both looked at each other, waging a silent argument with their eyes. After a few moments, Henri sighed, dug around for a bit, and finally took out a half-penny. He shuffled the reins until they sat properly, then put his hands behind his back and shuffled the half-penny around before bringing both hands back around, curled into fists.

"Does winner pick or does winner fight?" Henri asked.

"Loser fights," Hubert said.

Henri sighed and nodded.

"Right," Hubert said.

Henri opened his left hand, which had the half-penny.

"Ugh," Hubert groaned as Henri put the coin back. "Why do you ask?"

"I have a potion that'll give you the strength of a horse," I said. "Not for very long, tenth of an hour at most, but if the fight lasts that long we're all dead anyway."

Both Hubert and Henri paused at that. "Should've led with that," Hubert said.

We traveled the rest of the day and through part of the early twilight before wandering off the side of the road and making camp along the edge of the woods, tying our horses to the trees. Then, while the knights set about making a campfire, the three wizards in our group started wandering around and setting up wards. We didn't want to get ambushed at night, and if we were, we wanted as big of an edge as we could get.

The watches were split among us three wizards, with me taking first, Malfoy taking second, and Salazar taking third. The two knights didn't take much issue with not getting woken up for night watch.

Nothing really happened during my watch, just the usual creepy woods-at-night noises. Sounds without a discernible source, rustling leaves, haunting breezes, shifting shadows, all the classics. Four hours passed without note, and I went to sleep. 

* * *

My dreams were disjointed, bizarre, and brief. Flashes of Maggie, Susan, some blue-eyed corpse, frustrated yelling, and otherwise general darkness mixed with a throbbing in my head that came from the wards forced me awake. I opened my eyes and sat up, groaning slightly at the ache that came from sleeping in my duster, and grabbed staff and sword. Malfoy turned to look at me.

"Dreamwards went off," I said.

"Ah. Then definitely a draugr," Malfoy said, sounding faintly pleased and also worried.

"What, they do nightmares?" I asked as I got to my feet and started waking the others.

"That they do."

Bizarre nightmares didn't mean the draugr was coming, of course, but with invulnerable zombie wizards there was no point taking risks. Salazar, Hubert, and Henri woke up with minimal grumbling, and armed themselves in their various ways. Salazar pulled out a brown wooden wand, Henri his cavalry spear, which he took in two hands, and Hubert stuck his spear into the ground butt first before taking the potion I'd given him and grasping, but not yet pulling, the stopper.

We waited for what felt like hours, the tension steadily mounting, a distant rumbling in the sky steadily getting louder and louder, before our horses started whinnying and thrashing in their sleep.

"Does that mean it's getting closer?" Hubert asked.

"Yes. Keep an eye out," I said. At least I assumed so in the moment; it seemed a safe assumption. It turned out to be a valid one.

About a minute or two later, all of the proximity alarms we'd woven into the wards went off – with nothing else triggering. That prompted us to look at each other in confusion.

Then, a few moments later, Malfoy made that resigned "oh fuck" face that comes when you realize you've forgotten something. _Then_ a giant burst out of the ground.

It came out swinging in the center of our camp, sending burning logs scattering through the air. Its wild haymakers caught both me and Henri and sent us flying backwards into trees, splintering the bark and, at least in my case, giving me flashbacks of having my spine broken.

As I crumbled to the ground, I shakily waved my staff and yelled, "_Lumios!_"

A sphere of light lightly seasoned with soulfire shot forth from my staff to hang over the campsite like a lamp, illuminating the scene. The draugr was ugly, enormous, and ugly. Ugly really couldn't be repeated too much in this instance. It was a swollen, blackened, hideous corpse the size of a troll, and seemed to strike with the force of one if the pain in my ribs and back was any indication. Henri yelled and tried sticking it in the back with his spear, which didn't accomplish much besides getting the spear snapped when the draugr turned around, roaring.

Salazar followed that up by silently throwing out a writhing bolt of cutting red force, splitting the muscle of the draugr's right shoulder and drawing out another roar, this time of pain. As it rounded on Salazar, arms pulled back to smash, he yelled, "Look away!"

I did so immediately. It meant I didn't immediately notice what Salazar had done, and it took me a few moments to realize I wasn't hearing the expected smash and crunch sound of the draugr's fists impacting anything. Angling my head slightly, I looked to find it mostly frozen, its limbs struggling to move.

Malfoy cried a second later and a blob of caustic liquid splashed against the draugr's head, sizzling and popping. The draugr only managed a slight grunt, and in the relative silence that followed I heard the rumbling intensify.

"Lightning!" I cried as I stopped trying to force myself up and instead threw myself to the side.

A second later I heard the draugr's grunt turn into a roar for the fraction of a second between Salazar presumably throwing himself aside and the lightning coming down. There was a brief moment where the lightning hammered against shields and wards, and then it broke through with an ear-splitting crash. Even with my eyes closed the blast was blinding and deafening, and by the time I rolled around and blinked my eyes open I saw a triple-layered image of the draugr pulling a leg back to stomp.

"_Forzare_!" I cried, aiming in the general direction of the spinning legs. I hit, somehow, and the draugr's leg snapped out with a crack and sent it tumbling around as it spun, unbalanced. Then, somehow, someone stuck it in the head with the broken upper half of a spear and its roar killed my ears as it spun around again.

"Come on come on come on," I muttered without hearing as I let go of my sword and fumbled around for my blasting rod. I withdrew it a second later as a burning branch turned into a burning snake and leapt at the draugr, and brought my blasting rod around. "_Pyrofuego!_"

This time around my aim was off, and rather than burning through its head or its chest I instead cut a hole through its side, the tree behind it, and the tree behind that.

The draugr turned, glowing blue eyes mad with pain and rage, and started shrinking to the size of a man and sinking into the ground. When it was down to just its upper torso and a second away from disappearing entirely, Hubert fell forward with a grunt and hooked his arms under its elbows, inaudibly yelling in pain as he shoved his arms between a rock and a hard place. The draugr stopped sinking however and snarled, its arms starting to balloon out in size again. Another splash of caustic water hit it in the face, this time in the eyes, and instinct caused it to start wiping and rubbing at its face rather than reaching back around to crush Hubert.

Then a bolt of red scythed through one of the draugr's hands and cut it off at the wrist. The draugr swung wildly, and started both rising and shrinking incredibly quickly. In the span of a second and a half he went from being a giant linebacker to Mister-sized cat, sans fur, skin, and tail, and he kicked off Hubert's face as he leapt at Malfoy. The cat struck with the force of a cannonball and sent Malfoy hurtling to the ground with a single bat of its paw. It landed at the edge of our wards, which were still barely functional, and I could feel the rumbling of gathering lightning shake my bones, my ears still ringing and deaf to the world.

If it blew the wards apart then it would leave and stalk us. Pride and habit had caused it to attack us directly; staying in the ground or at a distance and harassing us with lightning would be its next trick. I couldn't let it get away.

I dropped my blasting rod and thrust my staff forward, yelling "_Laqueus!_" as I did so. A cord of glowing white light bolstered by soulfire wrapped itself around the draugr-cat's back legs. With my left hand, I dug into my pockets and retrieved my iron baseball. Then I started slamming it against the side of a nearby tree as hard as I could in a steady rhythm.

I'm not going to copy Kemmler and pen down the secrets of necromancy. Hell, I don't even like thinking about the fact that I resorted to this, or what I learned in doing so. But the draugr was on its way out and if I didn't stop it, it would keep killing.

So I started drumming and hoped that the draugr could hear it.

The draugr was a thinking, if not breathing creature, and so couldn't be controlled just with a drum, necromancy, a connection – like the cord of soulfire – and some will. But I could send contradictory commands, screw with its movements and actions. I could have done more if I wanted to. I probably could've seized control of it. I didn't want to.

I was too busy feeling disgust over the way soulfire and necromancy mixed so well to want to do anything other than kill it.

The draugr-cat started thrashing and twitching and hissing, transforming and dissolving into some horrific blob with a head. The electric tang in the air writhed in time with the rumbling of the clouds, as if they couldn't decide whether more lightning should come down or not. Another bolt of cutting red light came out, narrowly missed my cord, and tore free a chunk of rotting flesh. Then, from the center, Hubert and Henri stumbled forward, the latter supporting the former. Hubert had a sword in his hand, and as he came within striking distance he swung the sword with a half-heard scream and got halfway through the draugr's head. He tried to pull it out and overdid it, falling over backwards and carrying Henri down with him.

I kept drumming, steadily bringing the cord higher and higher, towards its neck. Then a line of water whipped out and cut into the gash Hubert had made, and decapitated the draugr. I felt it try to marshal its magic, get out a death curse, and poured more energy, will, and soul down the cord to smother the attempt. The death curse guttered and writhed and fought against itself and me, before finally blowing apart the cord of soulfire, sending a lance of agony straight up my arm.

I blacked out from the pain.

* * *

Author's Note: Draugar have such a fun grab-bag of potential powers.


	36. Chapter 3-X

**November 1069**

I woke up sometime later, maybe a minute, my right arm numb from the shoulder down and my ears still ringing. Our horses had tried to bolt and been stopped by our wards, and were now conked out on the ground unconscious. The fires that had started raging after the sudden scattering of the campfire and the lightning strikes were being washed away, and Henri was helping Hubert up into a sitting position against the lower stump of a tree that had been blasted apart by lightning. My light had gone out, and had been replaced by a weaker, ruddier, and more diffuse glow. Salazar was busy cutting apart the blob the draugr used to be, and my head was pounding like AC/DC were holding a concert in my skull.

And all was right with the world.

I tried to get up, fell over, and decided the ground was comfortable enough before rolling over onto my back, panting. AC/DC gradually wound down their concert, and once I could sort of half-hear again, I tried to sit up. Once I managed that, I progressed to looking around for my iron baseball, which was fortunately just within reach. I strained my ribs in the process, but I put the baseball back in my pocket before I decided to attempt standing. It took a few tries, but I finally managed to find my feet, at which point my back started screaming at me.

"Ow," I said.

Hubert's face was raw, puffy, and torn up by cat claws. Once I felt comfortable ambling around, I made my way over to the unconscious form of Shadowfax, dropped to my knees, and started rummaging around one-handed, looking for my medical potions and bandages. It took three times as long to get them all out than it should've, but once I had them laid out I called for Henri to help carry them. Between the two of us we got Hubert to drink a crude antibiotic and wrapped up his head, saving a painkiller for later once enough time had passed that Hubert didn't need to test potion miscibility in his stomach.

Malfoy got the rest of the bandages; the draugr had been aiming a little better with its remaining front paw and come within a hair's breadth of tearing out his eye. As it was, he looked as scarred as I did.

"Harry," Salazar called then. "Get over here and burn the remains."

I gave Salazar a long-suffering look, then called my blasting rod to my working hand and slowly hobbled over. As I muttered, "_Fuego_," and started burning up the remains, Salazar grabbed my unresponsive right hand and leaned in.

"How did you control it?" he whispered.

I was too tired and hurt to deal with this shit. "How did you freeze a draugr with a look?" I shot back.

He stilled.

"We've all got our secrets, Salazar. Don't go digging in mine," I said. "Did Malfoy notice?"

"I doubt it, he had the wrong angle to see past your lash to your… drumming," he said.

"Great. Now let go. I can't feel your hand anyway."

Salazar frowned briefly. Then he flipped my hand around and summoned a light from the end of his wand, revealing that my veins and arteries were practically bulging out of my skin.

"That's bad, right?" I asked intelligently.

"Quiet," he muttered, then tapped the wand against my skin. I felt the sensation of foreign magic probing me and tentatively let it go. It stopped after about half a minute, and Salazar pulled his wand back.

"Curse of rot, but on the weaker side," he pronounced. "No need for amputation. Give it a few weeks or months, should run its course."

"Couldn't it have gone on my left? That hand's already scarred," I said, sighing. "But, thanks, I guess. Now let go before this gets weird and we start liking each other."

He did so, and my arm flopped back to my side.

"Can you pack the head in something, like a bag?" I asked. "Should probably bring it back to the castle."

We couldn't be bothered to move camp after that, and basically all fell asleep once the adrenaline finally wore off. We woke up to the crack of dawn, by which point my arm had gone from "numb" to "every nerve is on fire." I had to commandeer the painkiller potion at that point. The process of saddling up was a headache and a half. Salazar didn't come back with us; he said he was going to have a look around to make sure the draugr was the end of things, and would inform us once he'd done that. Personally, I was up for a brief stay at a castle.

Hubert and Henri's injuries were bad, but not mortal. Henri got off lighter than Hubert, just some strained and bruised arms. Hubert, meanwhile, was dealing with pain across basically his entire upper body, including a number of cracked and fractured bones. He'd be out of commission for months, if not forever.

We made it back to Trematon Castle as twilight was starting, and drew quite the crowd as we rode through the gates. I needed some help getting off my horse, as did Hubert, and once we were all off we were all swiftly bundled inside to Reginald's private chambers.

I sighed as I slumped into a seat, and then hefted the sack Salazar had packed the draugr's head into with a grunt, dropping it on the table. Reginald wrinkled his nose.

"Smells foul," he said.

"It's the decapitated head of a redead corpse," I said. "Of course it smells like shit."

Reginald glanced around at all of us – me, Malfoy, Hubert, and Henri – and our general state of injury before getting up, moving to the sack, and slowly opening it. He paused a moment later, which didn't surprise me.

The draugr's head had been "frozen" mid-transformation between cat and man, and looked completely and grotesquely wrong. It had partial cat ears that looked like blackened human flesh, a skull that was at once too long to be a human's and too tall and large to be cat's, and its teeth were all sharp and curved.

"Is this… the draugr?" Reginald asked.

I grunted. "Was in cat form before we killed it."

"Don't know what damn form it was in when we did," Henri added.

"We'll stay for the next few days to recover, and see if anything else happens," I said. "But if you could somehow arrange a ship back to London in the meanwhile, that would be great."

"I will see about that," Reginald said slowly, still peering into the sack. "What should be done with this?"

"Burn it, then throw its ashes into the sea," Malfoy said.

We were left alone after that, given leave to go back to our own rooms, and then, and only then, did I turn towards Malfoy and, taking a deep breath, in Latin asked, "Did you seriously fucking forget it could move through the ground?"

Malfoy scowled. "Draugr are capable of many different things. And neither you nor Salazar remembered it either."

"Yeah, but we weren't the ones pushing the draugr theory, which admittedly turned out to be right, and setting ourselves up as experts, were we?" I asked. "Also, we're not the ones that _forgot it could move through the earth_. You did. That seems like a pretty major detail to overlook, considering it ended up bypassing all of our wards. You're lucky none of us died. As it is a man probably crippled himself for life saving us."

Malfoy scowled, worked his jaw, sighed, and stalked off.

"Great response, very mature," I muttered to myself after he wandered off.

Over the course of the next few days, the pain in my arm went from "near debilitating" to just "constant roasting," and I could sort of barely move my arm and hand. You can probably tell from the way the writing's getting all ugly that I'm stuck using my left hand for the time being. Around the second day, I wrote a letter to Helga predicated on the assumption Salazar wouldn't find anything else to deal with, and that evening, as I was stretching my legs walking the walls, an owl arrived. It was smaller than Hogwig, was completely white, and also came with a letter for me. Crudely and awkwardly, I took and opened the letter, finding that it was in Salazar's handwriting. It contained two words:

_It's done._

I sighed, rolled back my shoulders, and groaned. Then I looked at the owl. "Bring this back to Salazar, will you?" I asked, digging around in my pocket for the letter to Helga.

The owl cocked its head.

"No, I don't have any food for you. I wasn't expecting you. Go catch a squirrel or something, there's plenty of woods and trees around here."

The owl hooted in my face.

"Oh, just take it and go," I said, thrusting the curled up letter in its direction.

It glared at me for a moment, then nearly clawed me as it took my letter and flew off.

"And screw you too," I muttered, then made my way back down.

I found Malfoy, shoved the letter into his hands, and went off to find Reginald. He told me that a ship was either going to stop by the coast tomorrow, a slight detour between Fowey and London, or his men would come back by land because there were no ships. I thanked him for the help, then went back to my temporary room to sleep off the pain. It barely helped.

As it happened a ship did come by the next day, and an hour later Malfoy and I had embarked and set off on that eastward bound trading vessel. Maybe it wasn't the best idea, getting back on the seas with a damaged arm and hand while Mab's threat still hung over me, but I blame the pain in my arm. It was really, really distracting. 

* * *

The boat trip passed without incident, and by the time we came back to London, my right arm worked well enough that I could barely mount Shadowfax on my own. Malfoy certainly wasn't helping. It took another day of painful, hard riding to get back to Berkhamsted, and when we arrived William's banners were noticeably absent from the castle's walls. I didn't bother following Malfoy as he set about asking where the king had gone, content in the knowledge I'd probably beaten him to the punch when it came to reporting what had happened, and just went home, slept for a solid twelve hours, and decided I wasn't leaving the village at all until winter passed and spring rolled around, meetings be damned.

Berkhamsted had a rather fluid and active rumor mill, courtesy of being a stop on multiple trade routes and occasional host of great noble and/or royal court, so it didn't really surprise me when Elfleda came by the next day. I welcomed her in and ushered her into the main room, where the pale skin and bulging veins of my right hand quickly became apparent.

"What happened?" she asked, sitting down next to me with a worried expression.

"Death curse," I said. "It's been getting progressively better, but it's still an incredible pain to use, and will be for a while."

"Death curse?"

"Everyone's got magic in them, sustaining their life and existence. Most people can't tap into it at all, but powerful enough practitioners can take that internal magic and use it to empower a spell. Now, doing that kills you, so practitioners generally only do it when they're already about to die. Thus, death curse," I said, gritting my teeth as I tried to clench and unclench my hand. "I got lucky with this one, death curses can be a lot nastier." I held up a gloved hand as she went to ask another question. "I met the Winter Queen."

Elfleda's face dropped. "Oh."

"Yeah. On the boat to Cornwall, actually. The first night. She said that the ocean was her domain, thereabouts, and that let her visit me."

"Oh," Elfleda said, brow furrowed. Then her eyes widened. "_Oh_. Oh God, I'm so sorry, I didn't, I didn't know she could do that."

Elfleda fell silent and I looked at her face, trying to decide if I believed her. After a moment, I sighed.

"Swear on your power," I said.

Elfleda looked up at me cautiously. "That sounds important."

"It is," I said. "Most verbal agreements and statements aren't really backed up by anything, just the belief the other party will keep their word and not lie. For those with magic and power, however, swearing by it is more substantial, because if you break your word and you swore on your power, you lose some. Break enough, you lose everything."

Elfleda averted her eyes and looked down at the table, not saying a word. I let the silence drag on, wondering what her response would be.

"I swear on my power that I didn't know she could do that," she said quietly. "I didn't send you off to meet her."

I let out a sigh. "It's alright. Thank you. I should've known better myself, frankly. And it's not like anything really happened."

Elfleda looked up at me, a bit confused. "It… didn't?"

I shook my head. "She showed up, threw her weight around, and then said she wouldn't see me again."

Elfleda slowly blinked. "The Queen… is Sidhe, yes?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Then that seems very suspicious to me," she said. "In my admittedly limited experience, Sidhe don't just stop being problems, you have to make them stop. Unless she's moving on from you?"

"No, she's not doing that. She just seems to think she can make me come to her, which isn't happening," I said.

"And why not?"

"Because there's no reason to," I said. "The current state of affairs kind of sucks, but it's one I can live with. I have no desire to go chasing after her." I sighed and relaxed my hand. "Anyway, can we move on from her? How's Eva?"

"Good," Elfleda said, brightening somewhat at the change in topics. "She's back at the castle, enjoying the timeless pastime of watching men and boys hard at work and practicing."

"Ogling the eye candy?" I asked.

Elfleda considered my words for a moment, then nodded. "A good description. They were busy with some sets when I left, and I wasn't sure how long you would be staying, so I didn't bring her."

"Well, I don't plan to leave until spring, so I'll try and make the most of the winter months," I said.

Elfleda frowned. "You aren't? But that Malfoy fellow is planning on leaving, to find the king. Are you not going to accompany him?"

"No, I don't feel like riding out again. Besides, I know something he doesn't."

Elfleda arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

I leaned in slightly. "I sent a fully detailed letter to my much prettier and more persuasive colleague, detailing what we did and asking her to relay that information to the king. Half to beat Malfoy to the punch, half to show him, I mean the king, the benefits of cooperation with a group of wizards and witches."

Elfleda nodded approvingly, then looked at me in an interesting way. "Much prettier, you say? What's her name?"

"I'm not taking that bait," I said. "She's a colleague, that's all."

"Hmm. If you say so," she said, looking back down at my hand. "How bad is it, really?"

"Can barely raise it to my shoulder or grip things. Cup's about the extent of what I can lift. Oh, and every movement causes pain. But, you know, it works." I clenched my left hand. "Better than the time my left hand got burnt to a crisp."

"Oh?" Elfleda asked, turning to look at it. "What happened there?"

"An enemy of mine got smart and turned my usual tactics around on me. Way back when, my shield was better at blocking physical force rather than energy, like fire." I relaxed my fingers. "I've learned since then."

"I see. You are right-handed yes, not ambidextrous or left?" Elfleda asked.

"I'm a rightie," I said.

She nodded, then smirked saucily at me. "Would you like my help then, to spoon-feed you and spare you the pain?"

I choked. "That's uh, that's a bit, forward isn't it," I said in between coughs.

"I already visit your house frequently for long hours," she drawled, leaning into me. "You should hear some of the rumors going around."

"I'd rather not, thank you."

She laughed and pulled back. "If you wish, consider it recompense for my misstep with the boat."

I looked at her. "Are you insisting?"

"Are you declining?" she asked, eyebrow arched.

I sighed and looked away. "Look, it's not that I don't… enjoy the banter or appreciate the gestures, but I have a lot of baggage. History. And generally bad experiences with women being this forward with me. The relationships either ended horribly or they were trying to manipulate me from the start." I cocked my head slightly. "Both, in one case."

Elfleda's smile fell off, and after a few moments she sighed. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd appreciate it. And… it's instinct, almost."

I could see that. I'd run into a number of Winter Sidhe, and they were all distinctive. There were varying degrees of cruelty and pettiness and overt sexuality and a hundred other personality traits, but if there was one thing they had in common it was that, for all the ways in which they could and did work subtly, they were also very forward.

"I appreciate the thought," I finally said. "But I don't think it's appropriate right now."

Elfleda nodded and pulled back. "But is there something I can get for you, do for you?"

I paused and looked down at my left hand, recalling what I'd done as part of the physical therapy after it had been burned. "Maybe. Can you get me a lute?"

She frowned slightly. "The instrument?"

"Yeah."

"I will see what I can do," she said slowly.

I nodded in thanks. "Where'd the king go, anyway?" I asked. "I assume Robert went with him, seeing as how no one's come by to drag me to the castle."

"He did," Elfleda confirmed. "They went north to deal with some rebels, as I've heard it."

"In winter? Or just before?" I asked.

Elfleda shrugged. "I'm just repeating what I've heard."

I grunted. "Fair enough." I side-eyed her. "Not going to ask me how I got these scars?"

Elfleda laughed. "No, not right now. I'll save it for when Eva's present." She gave me a look. "You seem to draw enjoyment from making a teaching moment out of everything."

"I'm not that bad." I paused. "Am I?"


	37. Chapter 3-XI

**December 1069**

Snow was falling, ice was freezing, lessons were progressing, no one dragged me out on any jobs that required I go past the walls, my hand was getting better, everything was nice and fine and dandy.

For about a month.

One day, around noon, as I was finishing off lunch, someone knocked at my door. Given the time and the date, I figured it was Elfleda and Eva, and so left the table in the main room in a half-set state as I went to lower the wards and answer the door.

It wasn't Elfleda and Eva.

"John," I said, surprised. The old chaplain was bundled up in a heavy fur cloak, his black vestments barely visible under them.

"Harry," he said with a wan smile. "May I?"

"Uh, yes, please," I said, stepping to the side to make way for him. John nodded gratefully and came into the foyer, waiting for me to close the door before sighing and taking off his cloak.

"Hang it there, if you would," I said, nodding at the coat rack I'd nailed into the wall.

"Thank you," John said, briefly inspecting the coat rack before hanging his cloak by the hood.

"I wasn't expecting you today. Or at all. Actually I was expecting…"

"Feminine company?" John suggested with a slightly warmer smile. Then it dropped off. "I'm aware. I needed to speak with you in private, and so I asked Elfleda to skip a day. Or multiple, as it may turn out."

I frowned. "That sounds like you have a job for me."

"Unfortunately, I might," he said. He looked at the open door that led further into the house and asked, "May I?"

"Yeah. I have lunch prepared. For three, but if the others aren't coming then you can eat their shares."

"Warm food would be very much appreciated, thank you," he said.

As he shuffled towards the table, he glanced around the main room, his eyes briefly falling on the very sparse bookshelf I'd set up. "Are those your copies of my books?"

"They are."

"You finished rather quickly with them," he commented as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Well, not to belabor the point, but magic helps," I said.

He chuckled lightly. "I suppose it does." He sighed, looked down at the meal on the plate – pork, a mix of vegetables – and then frowned at the cutlery. "You use… forks?"

"They're a lot handier than hands," I said. "Do you want to eat first?"

"I think mine is a matter best discussed on a full stomach, yes," he said, before picking up the cutlery and digging in.

I sat down as well, and as I dug in asked, "I thought you'd be with Robert."

"Robert is with the king, and I am no longer a young man. An army out on campaign during the winter is not the place for me." He took a drink, and glanced at my gloved hand – specifically, my right. "When did you take to wearing gloves on both hands? Actually, why did you wear a glove on only your left to begin with?"

"Ugly scars," I summarized.

"Ah. My apologies," he said.

"No offense taken."

We passed the next ten minutes in light discussion of the books I'd copied from him, particularly the Aeneid. The constant cramping and pain in my right arm made any kind of manual or magical labor difficult, so I mostly passed the time by reading or looking like a maniac by running laps through town.

When we were done, and had set our plates aside, John sighed and turned to face me fully.

"Last month, both Robert and the king approached me regarding a very interesting topic," he said.

"Let me guess, Amoracchius."

John nodded gravely. "Yes. I'd like to know what history you have with it."

That was not an easy question to answer. "I knew one of its wielders for a time," I hedged. "We were friends, I'd say. I helped him out with some of his problems, he helped me out with some of mine. Sometimes those problems intersected. Why, did the Church lose it or something?"

"No, nothing like that. At least, I hope not. I am uncertain as to its current whereabouts, or if someone currently wields it, but I believe it is in safe hands." He frowned then, as a thought came to him. "Out of curiosity, could you find it?"

"With one of the other Swords and a license from God, maybe," I said. "But otherwise, no. The way I understand it, I'm a lot likelier to 'randomly' come across it than I am to deliberately find it."

John nodded. "How much do you know about their purpose?" he asked.

Oh. Oh no. Oh fuck no.

I looked straight up at the ceiling and waved my wounded hand, the hand I used to do magic, in that direction. "Are you fucking kidding me?" I demanded. Then I sighed and looked back down at John. "I assume you mean the thirty coins."

"Yes," John said gravely.

I directed another dirty look Upstairs. "Alright," I said, looking at John. "No promises, but I'll hear you out. What's the problem?"

"You are not familiar with the… sealing procedures, are you?" he asked tentatively.

"No, and I'm not sure I want to be. All I know is they involve churches and probably holy water, and anyone who knows about them can guess that," I said. "I'm guessing one broke loose around here?"

John nodded. "The Church tries to carefully assess and evaluate the characters of the caretakers, but sometimes mistakes are made."

"Historically speaking, about half of them get loose that way," I muttered.

John frowned. "What?"

I shook my head. "Just something I heard once. So, Brother Something-or-other took the coin and ran off, and apparently didn't do a good enough job covering his tracks." I frowned. "I assume you know who ran off."

"I do, and I can describe him in some terms, but I am not familiar with him," John said. "Until rather recently, my remit was in Normandy. I was vaguely aware of others that were… as informed as I am among the clergy, let us say, and I would at times pass along messages coming to and from England, but those instances were very rare."

"Okay. Do you know which Fallen's coin was taken?" I asked.

"Ursiel's, if the name means anything to you."

I closed my eyes, sighed, and barely fought down the urge to point a middle finger in a heavenly direction. "Great. So the super-bear that can make himself immune to magic. Wonderful." I sighed. "Please tell me you're here as an intermediary for one of the other Knights."

"I am not," John said apologetically.

"Ugh," I groaned, putting my head in my hands. "Okay. Why come to me? Do you think Brother…"

"Cerdic. Just Cerdic."

"Do you think Brother Cerdic, or I guess now former Brother Cerdic, is still in England? How long ago was this? Why wouldn't he be on the first boat out?"

"I received word yesterday evening, and the sealing monastery was destroyed three weeks ago. It took time for word to reach me," he said.

"So Cedric could be basically anywhere by now."

"Perhaps," John admitted.

I sighed and sat back. "Alright. From what I know, Ursiel's more physical rather than magical, but he's also a Fallen so he's not stupid. The chances I can find Cedric magically by this point are nonexistent. With three weeks of sunrises plus however long it takes me to get anything related to him, plus the Fallen helping to throw off magical tracking, I don't see a way I can find him unless I know where he's going or what he's planning to do. I don't suppose you know that?"

John shook his head. "I do not, unfortunately. Cerdic was a third son, given to the Church. He did not stand to inherit anything and the Church was his life. I do not know what worldly connections he might have."

"Is his father still alive?" I asked.

"I do not know. That information was not provided to me. But if Cerdic came to loathe the Church and sought revenge against his father, then I believe he would already be dead."

"That's true." I chewed my lip and turned the few available facts around in my head. "Cerdic's a native Saxon, right?"

"I have no reason to believe otherwise," John said.

"Do you know if he had any issues with the Normans? Any vendettas?" I asked.

"I don't," he said slowly. "But he could, perhaps. If he felt some connection to his family and they died in the conquest, or after. But I could not tell you if that was the case."

I nodded. "Alright. But let's say that's true, for the moment. Now, if I was a demonic bear looking to sink my claws into a man of the cloth by providing an avenue to revenge while indulging in a rousing display of chaos, there's few better ways than killing a king."

"Do you think that likely?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. That's the problem. I don't know enough about Cerdic to say what he may be inclined to do. I don't know if Cerdic's already fallen down the crazy tree while hitting every branch along the way and the Fallen's in charge now. I don't have the first clue where to start looking." I folded my arms. "Short of throwing a dart at a map while blindfolded and hoping Uriel holds my hand, I don't know where to try finding him."

John frowned. "The archangel?"

"God's spymaster and arranger of coincidences," I said. "I could maybe summon him in your chapel and see if he's feeling talkative, but personally, I doubt that would work."

Also, I didn't really want to summon Uriel. I could, could've done so at any time since waking back up, but, well, I was afraid. That either he'd have the answer to why I was back here, or that he wouldn't. And I didn't know which possibility scared me more.

John looked at me with a serious, almost wide-eyed expression. "You believe you can summon one of God's own angels? An archangel, no less?"

"If you have magic you can try and summon just about anything," I said. "There are a lot of things and beings you shouldn't try and summon, but in this instance, I figure the worst thing that can happen is that he doesn't show up." I clicked my tongue. "Though there's probably not any real point in actually trying. If he was inclined to give information, he'd probably do it by having a book fall open to the right page or something like that."

I paused and looked at my bookshelf. So did John.

"Well, it's worth a shot, I guess," I said. "If it doesn't work I just look like an idiot, which I'm very familiar with."

I got up from my chair and went over to my bookshelf, running a finger along the various spines before stopping the Bible. I hadn't opened it since I'd finished copying this one out; honestly, it was only there for image purposes and the unlikely eventuality I needed to reference or quote it somehow.

Like now.

"Well, seeing as how I'm doing the literary equivalent of consulting the bones for guidance, I guess there's no better book to do it with than the Bible," I said. I took it out, flipped it around so that the spine was facing towards the ground, pressed my hands to the front and back covers, and moved so that it was hanging over the table. I glanced at John. "Let's see what happens."

Then I dropped it.

My hand spasmed in pain as I let go, which caused the book to wobble to the left. It fell about two feet, hitting the table with a _thunk _as its spine collided with the wooden surface at an angle, its two covers falling open in opposite directions. The book opened most of the way to the end, with the two visible pages looking like they signified the beginning of a chapter.

"Okay," I said, turning the book around and sliding it towards John, before making my own way around the table.

"My eyes are not as sharp as they once were," John said.

"No problem," I said, holding out a hand above the book and his head and muttering, "_Flickum bicus._"

"Thank you," John said before leaning in slightly. "Paulus Apostolus Jesu Christi secundum imperium Dei Salvatoris nostril, et Christi Jesu spei nostrae."

Yes, I know that should probably be a different symbol or set of characters if I wanted to properly capture the pronunciation. But my right hand isn't working right now and the ae was troublesome to write even when it was.

John went on, "Timotheo dilecto filio in fide. Gratio, misericordia-"

"First Timothy," I said. "Or One Timothy." I frowned. "Not quite the reference I was expecting."

"What were you expecting?" John asked, looking up at me with a curious expression.

"Well, if we're assuming this is a message, and my theory was somewhat right, I would have gone with Kings," I said. "But Timothy… Timothée. Did he end up going with Robert?"

"Timothée Renouth?" he asked.

"Yeah, him."

"He did, he is a _milite_ in the service of Robert."

I sighed, the pieces coming together to form a picture I didn't like. "Great. That's great."

* * *

Author's Note: No, Cerdic's last name is not Diggory, or Diggoryson, or anything like that.

Bible quote sourced from the presumably English-transliterated Latin Vulgate.


	38. Chapter 3-XII

**December 1069**

"You want my help," Lucille said slowly.

After getting a physical description of Cerdic, I'd given John a tentative maybe on dealing with Ursiel and accompanied him back to the castle. Then after seeing him to his chapel, I went searching for Lucille and found her wandering the halls.

"Yes," I said. "I'd also prefer to discuss this in private, considering the details are rather sensitive."

"Weren't you the one to request I set up appointments?" she asked. "Do your rules only apply to me?"

"No, but I'm in a hurry and your brother's potentially in danger, so can we skip past the posturing, please?" I asked.

Lucille frowned. "What do you mean?"

"See, this is why I want to talk in private," I said. "So?"

Her frown deepened for a moment, then she turned. "Fine. Follow me."

She led me through the halls, searching for an empty and secluded room, and finally decided on a guest room that was in the middle of a rarely trod hallway. She checked that no one was inside, then stepped in and waited for me to do the same. I walked in.

"Why do you think he is in danger?" Lucille asked the moment I closed the door.

"I was very recently informed that a rather powerful demon is loose in England," I said. "And I mean demon in the biblical sense. I suspect it is going after King William, or Earl Robert, or both, or someone near them. Your brother is one of Robert's knights."

Lucille's expression grew considering. "And how do I play into this? What do you need my help for? Do you think _I_ had something to do with the demon?"

"No," I sighed. "Look. I'm not accusing you or your brother of anything. But this demon has had almost a month's head start on me, and I try and catch up to Robert the slow way, that might take me almost a month on its own just to find them. 'Up north' is a very vague set of directions. So I need to take a shortcut. That is where you come in." I took a deep breath. "What exactly is your relationship with your brother?"

I really, really was not looking forward to this next part. It was stupendously, insanely, and dangerously risky. But there was no other way for me to overtake Cerdic and Ursiel, assuming they were hunting the king. Or Robert. Or both.

"What are you asking, precisely?" she asked.

"Are you older, younger, how far apart, did you have the same mother, so on," I asked.

"We're twins," Lucille said, a tinge of bitterness creeping into her tone. "He is older by a few minutes."

I paused. Definitely some resentment there, but I couldn't deal with that right now. "That's perfect for my purposes."

Lucille looked up at me, meeting my eyes. "Do you intend to use magic to move from me to him?"

"Not exactly," I said. "How familiar are you with the Nevernever?"

Lucille looked at me blankly. "I don't know what that is," she said.

"Huh. Bit surprised by that, but alright." I cleared my throat. "The Nevernever is, essentially, a parallel dimension of the supernatural. Basically anything that isn't in the world is there, somewhere. Heaven, hell, divine domains, planes of spirits, realms of Faerie, the whole hodgepodge. If you have the power, you can enter the Nevernever and use it to move around the world. With the right paths and Ways, you could go from London to Constantinople in an hour or two."

"And you think I can navigate this Nevernever?" she asked.

"Not exactly. That's my role. What I think you can do is find your brother, or at least the other side of where your brother is in this world," I said. "You're connected by blood, heritage, and nature, which will translate to some instinct in the Nevernever, a feel for where to go and look. Especially if I help with that."

"And how would you do that?"

"Well, I'd use something of your brother's that you have lying around, mixed with a drop of your blood."

Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Is that so."

I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. "I am not trying to manipulate you here, Lucille. I am trying to save lives, one of which may be your brother's. Now, I can only guess at what personal issues you have with him, but I'm pretty damn sure you still love him."

Lucille scowled and looked away. "What, precisely, would you need from me, wizard?" she asked a few moments later.

"An item of your brother's, a drop of your blood, for you to follow and lead me through the Ways, and that is it," I said. "Maybe, _maybe_ to help with the demon, if you actually know how to fight. But that is separate to getting to wherever your brother is right now and we can discuss that when we get there."

"What you are proposing, how dangerous is it to me?"

"Unfortunately, very. We'd have to pass through Faerie, and Faerie is… rather hostile to me," I said. That was an understatement. "We'll have to be running the entire time, and we will be chased and hounded. If the path isn't short, we'll have to fight a bit, buy some more time. But it's the only way to get there ahead of the demon."

Lucille stayed silent, not looking at me.

"Please," I pleaded.

Lucille glanced at me and I could almost see the calculation in her eyes, the weighing of lives and opportunities. The aftermath of a royal assassination and slaughter, and the resulting mass of wars, would be very fertile ground for a young, pretty vampire to exploit. And with my presence in Robert's court, her ability to manipulate him towards her own ends was minimized. This was, essentially, the best opportunity for her to cut and run. Chaos in the realm, I run the risk of dying during the journey, or afterwards, and all she needed to do was say no.

And in doing so, potentially condemn her brother to death.

"I want consideration," she said.

I sighed. "Fine. Say what you want, and I'll consider it."

"When the opportunity comes," Lucille said, trailing off for a moment. Then she took a deep breath. "When the opportunity comes, and it will come within the next few years if not sooner, if I tell you, when I tell you, you will kill someone for me."

"That really, _really_ depends on who you're asking me to kill," I said. "Because based on just that statement I'm leaning towards 'no way in hell' as a response."

It took almost a full minute for Lucille to reply. "My father."

I sighed. "What is it with vampires wanting me to kill or destroy their fathers?" I muttered under my breath. "Who's your father?"

"Gauthier Renouth," Lucille said. "The current Constable of France."

I looked at Lucille and blinked. "You're kidding me."

"I wish I was," she said.

"What is the Constable of France, exactly?"

"The commander of the armies of France, in place of the king. Given King Philip's youth and inexperience, that makes my father one of the most powerful nobles in France."

"And you want me to kill him," I said slowly. "Me, a wizard, killing the commander of France's armies. A vampire." I paused for a second. "You're asking me to start a war."

"You're asking me to help prevent one," Lucille said. "And if you wish me to be blunt and direct, then I shall be. My father is not a good man, nor a humble one. He has great influence over France, may rule it in all but name through various thralls. I know he intended for me to catch King Philip's eye once the boy was older. I doubt he's given up on that plan."

I leaned back against the door and sighed. "Is that your final offer?"

"It is," she said.

A great set of options. Sleep with Mab to get a pass through the Ways, go it myself, or agree to murder France's Commander-in-Chief and maybe start a war between the White Council and a Vampire Court. Wouldn't be the first time. Wouldn't even be for that different of a reason, now that I thought about it.

"I need to think about this," I said. "I'll send you a message in an hour or two, by the same little messenger I used months ago. It'll either be a simple yes or a no. If it's a yes, you grab what I asked for, grab what you think you need, and come over to my house. Is that agreeable?"

"It is," she said. "I'll await your response eagerly."

"I'm sure," I said. I stepped aside and opened the door for her, and after one last look at me, Lucille walked out.

"It doesn't rain, but it pours," I said.

Was there another option? Owl Helga and explain the situation, ask her to try and handle it? Maybe, but that was only an option if she was still there, and if she could figure out a way to find Ursiel, and if she could figure out a way to stop him.

Granted, I didn't really have any smart ideas on that last front. But at least I had experience. And finding Cerdic and Ursiel, well, that was only my problem once I got there, if I got there.

And who, exactly, could I consult to get a second opinion on this choice? John? That would require explaining a lot. Elfleda? Well, maybe, but I didn't want to involve her in this.

No, I had to make this choice myself.

I headed back to the chapel and told John that I'd do what I could, and asked him to look after Shadowfax while I was gone. While I was there, I also grabbed quill, ink, and parchment, wrote down an ugly and hastily penned letter that I stuffed into a pocket, and took a detour to the kitchens to grab a small platter of salted meat.

Then I tracked down Eva.

I found her in Elfleda's room, the two of them sitting on the bed in the room, knitting and discussing courtly politics. That's my guess, anyway.

"Harry," Elfleda said in slight surprise. "John said you were likely to be busy today."

"Yeah. I am," I said. "I'm actually about to do something highly risky and probably stupid."

Elfleda grew serious. "How so?"

"I am heading off to fight a demonic bear."

"But you're injured."

"I know, which is why I said highly risky and probably stupid," I said, setting the platter down on top of a dresser before fishing my letter out of my pocket. It had smudged and run over a bit, but was still mostly legible.

"Okay Eva, quick crash course" I said, turning to face my apprentice. "When you want to summon something, all you really need is a Name and some power put into it. Today, you're going to summon an owl. Hogwig, specifically, the owl you saw last month."

"Why am I doing it?" she asked.

"Because I'm in a hurry," I said. "And I don't have time to wait for however long it might take for him to arrive." I gestured at the letter and platter. "Both are for him. Offer the meat first, then the letter, then tell him to deliver it to his owner, Helga. Repeat that please."

"Call his name, give him the food, give him the latter, ask him to deliver it to his owner Helga," Eva repeated.

"Good," I said, nodding.

"Please tell me that is not a will," Elfleda said.

"Only half of it. And very abridged," I said.

Elfleda sighed. "Do you have to do whatever this is yourself?"

I let out a long sigh. "Yes. I think I do."

She looked at me in silence for a few moments, focusing on my lips in particular, then harrumphed. "Then good luck."

"Thanks." I turned to Eva. "Don't do anything I'd do while I'm gone."

Eva frowned. "Don't you mean don't do anything you wouldn't do?" she asked.

"I know what I said." With a final nod to them both, I turned around and headed home, mentally debating Lucille's offer the whole way there. I made my decision as I reached my door.

No.

* * *

Author's Note: Gauthier, Third Constable of France is an actual historical figure. However, since literally the only things I could dig up on him were his name and his position, I had free reign for everything else.


	39. Chapter 3-XIII

**December 1069**

I dug some food out for Larissa, called her up, and negotiated a quick exchange of a message for food. Then I sat down to think.

Could I go it alone, without Lucille, without Mab? Probably not. I had no idea where William was, where Robert was, where Tim was, where anyone was. Without Uriel coming down and holding my hand every step of the way, I had no way to quickly cut through the Nevernever. Without Lucille, I couldn't easily find Tim. And wandering around the Nevernever for an extended period of time trying to find him was a nonstarter with the threat of Mab and her servants hanging over me. A short trip with a defined destination? Sure. A ranging? No.

I had two options, at this point. Give up, go back to John, and say that I'd done all that I could. Or, I could call up Mab. And as much as I didn't want to do that, I simply didn't have the connections, in Faerie or elsewhere, to get around her.

I snorted as a stupid thought came to me. I could always call up Titania and massively complicate my life. It wasn't like the current one hated me for killing her daughter.

I sighed and got up to go to my laboratory to call... someone. Maybe a guide's name would come to me in the minute it took to get there and set up.

Well, actually, one did just come to me at that moment. I could do the differently stupid thing and call up Chaunzaggoroth, sell one of my Names for the knowledge of where to go and how to get there. But somehow, I doubt that would go over well Upstairs.

"Uriel, sometimes I really hate you," I muttered.

As I said that, I felt something tiny slip through my wards. I turned around in surprise, and found that Larissa was back to devour the second half of the crude sandwich I'd prepared. It hadn't even been a minute.

"That was fast," I noted.

"She was, very close, almost, at your door," Larissa said in between giant bites.

I frowned and furrowed my brow. "You told her no, right?"

Larissa stopped eating and flew right up to my face, flashing indignantly. "I did what you said and told her NO!"

I winced and leaned back at the yell, then watched in bemusement as the little faerie flew back to her meal. Someone knocked on my door a second later.

Tentatively, I grabbed my staff from where it was resting, held it in my left hand, and made my way towards the front door. I lowered the wards that were tied to go off if someone tried to open or force the front door, or any aperture really, and after some right-handed fumbling managed to unlock and open it.

A feminine derivative of Tim was waiting for me on the other side.

"Lucille?" I asked hesitantly.

She nodded. She was dressed, well, like a man. Thick hose, large boots, tunic, woolen gloves, flat chest, large cloak. She had the hood up to obscure her face and hide her hair, though she hadn't done anything further to disguise her features. A small arming sword was strapped to her waist, and she held some kind of knitted woolen monstrosity in one hand that looked vaguely like an oven mitt.

I looked her in the eyes. "You know I said no, right?" I asked carefully.

She let out a soft breath and nodded. "I am aware. I… reconsidered."

"Reconsidered how?"

"My desires have not changed," she said slowly. "But in this instance, I will not set it as my price. I will help you and, maybe, later, you will help me."

Saying that seemed to take an effort of will on her part, and I carefully looked her over. "That's a very hesitant maybe from me. But if you're here to help, we'll shelve the topic of your father until after we're done. Agreed?"

Slowly, she nodded.

"Swear it."

"I am here to help, nothing more. I swear," she said.

"Alright." I took down the rest of the anti-intrusion wards and then stepped back. "I'm not formally inviting you in."

She stepped inside, and then closed the door once I nodded to it.

"What's this?" I asked, gesturing to the thing in her hand.

"An attempt at a knitted glove," she said. "It belongs to my brother. Is it enough?"

"You're asking if I still need your blood?" I waited for her nod before continuing. "That depends on what this glove is. I'm guessing you made it?" Another nod, sharp and short and curt this time. "And your brother's kept it all this time?"

"So it seems," she said.

I looked down at the glove-thing. "Blood would make it better, but this should work enough on its own."

She went to hold it out to me, and I shook my head. "Not now. I just got home, and still need to pack. Wait here, I'll be back in five minutes."

She took a deep breath and took the glove in both hands. After making sure she wasn't about to do anything, I went back into my house proper and headed for the laboratory.

Bringing Shadowfax wasn't an option. While he would be faster, I couldn't guarantee that all of the Ways we needed to take could fit a horse, and leaving him behind halfway was cruel. What that meant though was that I would have to pack light, just what could fit in a rucksack and my pockets. I couldn't bring my full complement of potions or doodads.

After some quick deliberations, I packed all the aids I might need for setting up an impromptu thaumaturgic ritual, just general things that I could maybe use to find Ursiel. On top of that I transferred two potions into water-skins, a painkiller potion and the blending potion. Lastly I loaded up my pockets with all the iron I could comfortably carry and access, including the baseball, and then headed back to the foyer. Larissa was gone by this point, having devoured the rest of the sandwich.

"That's a steel sword, right?" I asked when I came back to the foyer.

Lucille nodded.

"Good. It'll be extra effective against the faeries we run into. If any get close, cut them. Doesn't precisely matter where, just touching anything with iron is agonizing to them."

She nodded again. "Do you need the glove now?"

"No, we need to go somewhere else before we enter the Nevernever," I said, opening the door and ushering her out before putting the wards back up and turning off the heating system. "The very rough summary of the Nevernever is that it's connected in a symbolic sense rather than a strict geographical sense. Similar places and concepts link together. Lacking the prior trial-and-wisdom directions of a crazy trailblazer, we're going to have to travel by concepts. In this case, along concepts related to long-distance travel. And the older and more historied a place and concept, the better." I started leading her through the town. "Inns, particularly overnight inns, fit my criteria. So, we're heading to the oldest inn in town, that was here when Berkhamsted was first formed as a small and not especially relevant village."

It took us about five minutes of trudging through heavy snow to reach an inn at the center of town that didn't have any formal name but was colloquially known as The Inn. Fortunately, because The Inn predated things like walls and competitors, it had an attached, if rarely used stables. I led us in there, past the one horse that was hiding from the cold in a stall, and checked to make sure no one was looking in on us.

"Alright, we're here." I turned around to face Lucille. "Can you fit your hand in that glove you made?"

"With difficulty and discomfort, and it won't fit entirely," she said, eyeing it carefully.

"Good enough. Take off one of your current gloves and put it on."

Lucille took off her left glove. She looked around for a moment for somewhere to put it, then turned to look at me.

"Okay, I guess I'll hold onto it," I said, taking the glove from her and shoving it in one of my pockets.

With her hands free, Lucille bunched her fingers together into a trapezoidal shape and slipped the glove over them, bending and twisting fingers and glove until it enveloped everything under her wrist. I didn't comment on how the result looked.

I walked around in as large a circle I could manage given the space, using the butt of my staff to physically draw in the dirt, and willed it closed once the circle was done. A crackling tension seemed to fill the air a second later, the circle encasing, compressing, and stirring the local magical energies.

I turned to look at Lucille. "I want you to think of a happy memory related to this glove, one that involves you and your brother. If you remember the moment you gave it to him, and his reaction, then that's the best one. Close your eyes, fix it in your mind. Bring yourself back to that moment."

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"Focus on the little details. The smells, the lighting, the small folds in his clothes, in yours. The expression he made. The way his eyes looked."

As I spoke, I focused my own mind and thoughts on Tim, sketching out his form. First his general shape, then the contours. His clothes, his expression, his eyes, his habitual smirk. I also watched Lucille's expression, the way she seemed to relax, even smile faintly.

Slowly, I reached out and hovered my right hand over the knitted glove-thing. "_Interessari, interressarium_," I murmured, and lightly touched the glove.

My hand spasmed in pain as energy rushed out of me, atrophied and damaged channels screaming with the effort. I grit my teeth and forced the magic to come out properly, in the shape I wanted, adding in a little soulfire to help the efficacy and duration. For a moment, I was afraid I'd fail. Then the energy seeped and settled into the glove, and the pain stopped. Mostly.

A moment later, I broke the circle. "Now, without opening your eyes, without thinking, turn and point in the direction you believe your brother is."

She did so, pivoting on the spot and holding out her hand, then opened her eyes. I did some mental geography, going from where we started and counting the paths and turns, and determined she was pointing roughly north. She'd been looking south-west when I closed the circle.

"Looks like it's working," I said. "I'm going to open the Way now. Once we're on the other side, we'll have to move fast. Don't think about where we're going, just let it come to you. I'll tell you if we need to make a detour to avoid someplace dangerous."

She nodded and hefted my sword.

"Great. Well." I turned to face the north. "Here goes nothing. _Aparturum_."


	40. Chapter 3-XIV

**December 1069**

My knowledge of the "modern" Ways consisted of what I'd read from the few of Rowena's texts that touched upon them, and my brief, panicked escape from Avalon about two years ago. What I'd determined was that, while there were still a great many Ways that went "open Way in England, move ten feet to the north-east, emerge in sub-Saharan Africa, trudge west for five minutes, open Way, follow an upwards flowing stream for a mile, emerge in China", the Ways in general were more compact. Interrelated.

I didn't really know why. The best explanation I could come up with was that the inherent difficulty and slowness of long distance travel, the reliance on firm trade routes, the quality of boats, the lack of hundreds of thousands airplanes ferrying millions of people around the world every day, all resulted in fewer connections being made, and the connections that did exist were closer together.

If it wasn't for that, I would have never braved the Ways. But since it was, well, I could take advantage of that.

The Way dumped us along the edge of a forest into half a foot of snow. The trees, though mostly barren, were starting to bloom with the tiniest sprigs of green. The winter solstice was the day before, when the balance of power began to shift from Winter to Summer. Maybe that helped.

A herd of enormous bull-sized deer started at our appearance, and started looking intently in our direction. I didn't like the way they looked at us, especially the stags, whose horns looked like they were as hard as steel. I quickly rushed out of the forest and away from the herd of deer, which went back to its business once we made some distance.

Past the forest was a disorganized mishmash jumble of human architecture. Dirt roads segued into Roman cobbles, forming a random web of stretches, twists, and turns that wound its way through wooden longhalls, dirt huts, Roman forts, post-Roman castles both ruined and whole, and stone buildings, all of various sizes, all coalescing into a bizarre collage of a city.

"Huh," I said, coming to a stop. "This is unexpected."

"What?" Lucille asked, her posture tense.

"The buildings," I said, gesturing with my staff. "It's like someone grabbed samples of every point in Britannia's history and jumbled them all together. It doesn't fit. Something like this doesn't just come about."

"Is that relevant to us right now?" she asked.

I shook my head. "I don't know, but you're right, we do have to get a move on. Where to?"

For the blind reader, if we orient so that we entered this jumbled city from the north, then Lucille pointed west-south-west at part of what I mentally labeled the outer edge of the city. I set off without another word, and a few seconds later Lucille caught up to me and then slowed down to keep pace.

As we ran I fumbled around with my collar, trying to grasp my pentacle amulet and turn it around so that my mother's ruby was pressing into my chest. It took a few tries, but eventually I managed it. Nothing came out.

The stone was, so far as I could determine, little more than a fancy recording device. My mother had dictated all of her routes and conclusions regarding the Ways to it, using it like a map and guide all in one. I'd been very hesitant to mess or fiddle with it, but after some very tentative experimentation I'd figured out the intuitive, surface level controls, how to make more detailed requests beyond "give me a route" or how to change "modes."

Sometimes, I turned it on just to listen to her voice.

Not now though. With how weird this place was, I figured it wasn't impossible my mother had come across it in the future, had some insight or explanation for it, advice for how to navigate it. No such luck.

I sent a mental impulse into the stone and shifted it from GPS mode to what was basically a theory and commentary mode, and a voice with no apparent source began to speak quietly.

"Genuine human architecture in the Nevernever is surprisingly rare. When it appears, it is usually the mark of a domain or the result of deliberate artifice, the product of a being with notable spiritual power, affinity for the region, and at least a somewhat human nature. Ghostly domains are the most common form of this, I've found."

I looked around the bizarre city, at the various and seemingly random levels of decay and vibrancy in the buildings. Some stone buildings that looked fairly modern were almost ruins, while dirt hovels that looked to have been in vogue before Christ were in perfect condition.

I didn't want to think about what kind of ghost or other being could've been powerful and connected enough to form a domain of England.

"Domains such as these are strongly reflective of their creator's memories and perceptions, and are often laid out in strange and irregular ways even by my standards. However, reflections of towns and cities are typically safe to travel through."

There was a brief pause, then, "Notation: It seems that areas and districts that reflect places that are colloquially known to be rundown and dangerous to the average person in the normal world are even more so in the Nevernever. Avoid slums and ganglands in the future, no matter how tempting a shortcut they present."

"Good to know," I muttered.

"Hmm?" Lucille hummed.

"Stop for a second," I called.

I slowed my pace over the course of a few seconds before coming to a stop, Lucille coming up beside me much more gracefully, and I took a moment to breathe and look around.

"Why are we stopping? Tired already?" she asked.

"No," I said. "We need to be smarter about this. The glove gives us a direction but not exactly the optimal path." I looked around, noting the web of streets and buildings, they way they blended and shifted between styles. "Okay. If you're an army on campaign, you're going to be following the roads, it's just more efficient. And if you can, you're going to want to follow the Roman roads. They endure, they're paved, faster, planned out." I shook my head. "As we've run, has the direction changed much?"

Lucille furrowed her brow for a few moments, then shook her head.

"We've taken a lot of turns," I said. "Which means we're still a good distance away, because if we were closer the angle would be varying as we moved. But so far we've been trying just the most direct routes, not the fastest."

"We haven't even gone a mile," she said.

"That's not the point. This place, whatever it is, is a nexus of civilization. It's cut out all the wilderness, all the plains, streams, groves, lakes, everything. It's just roads and places where people lived." I shook my head. "Physical distance is only half the equation here."

"Concepts," she said.

I nodded. "Concepts."

She looked like she was about to say something in response, then stopped. She furrowed her brow, narrowed her eyes, and cocked her head as if she were trying to place a sound.

"What do you hear?" I asked.

She shushed me, and a few seconds passed before she said, "It sounds like… music. But wrong."

"Like a dog is somehow howling a perfect tune?" I asked.

She nodded slowly, and I swore. Then I sighed. "Hellhounds."

"What?" Lucille asked, alarmed.

"Despite the name they don't actually have anything to do with hell or demons. I don't think they even breathe fire. They're just large fae hunting dogs."

"Then we run?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," I said, and took off down the nearest paved Roman road that led vaguely in our desired direction, Lucille falling in with me immediately.

"How dangerous are they?" Lucille asked.

"They're hunting dogs. Large mastiffs, the size of a pony," I said in between breaths. "They're just big and strong and fast dogs. If it was only a bunch of hellhounds we could deal with them."

"So why don't we fight?" she asked. Her tone made it sound more like a rhetorical prompt than an actual question.

"Because they're hunting dogs," I said. "Which implies a hunter. And I have a pretty good idea who's directing them. That's why we're running."

As we started moving along exclusively paved roads, the nature of the buildings around us shifted. Wood steadily gave way to stone, which gave way to concrete. They got bigger and more ornate, but were also riven with cracks and breaks. A few of the more wooden buildings sometimes spontaneously caught fire as we approached, timber quickly rotting and burning and dumping sparks on us. Walls and overhangs broke apart, scattering stones across the roads, and in one case sending a brick flying out in front of us. I didn't catch it in time but Lucille did, and she thrust out her left arm in a sharp motion that brought me to a halt and drove the air out of my chest.

"Ow," I complained. "Thank you."

"They're getting louder," Lucille noted as we took off again.

"I can hear that," I said, grunting. "Are we getting closer?"

"I think so, it's- this way," she said, suddenly turning and taking a right at the intersection. I swore under my breath and followed her. It was concerning; I was more than a foot taller than her and definitely more athletic and she was outrunning me. Her eyes, when I glimpsed them, were already a near solid gray, and seemed to be getting more silver every time I caught another glance. I wondered how much vampire fuel she was burning to keep up with me.

After another two minutes or so of running down wide and fairly straight roads, Lucille took a left turn and we ran almost smack dab into the gate of a Roman fort. It was closed.

"Through there?" I asked, taking steady, deep breaths.

"Yes," she said.

"Alright, let's try and force it open."

We lined ourselves up so we were facing only one side of the double-doored gate, then backed up and ran at it. I shifted so that I shoulder-checked the door with my left shoulder, while Lucille used her right. The gate shuttered, but barely budged.

"Again." Another slight budge. "Again." And another.

"Don't you have magic to force this open?" Lucille asked through gritted teeth.

"I use magic and the hellhounds will sense it, track us down faster," I said with a grunt. "Again."

We hammered it two more times and opened it enough to maybe stick Lucille's arm through before she snarled and backed up. When she looked at me, I saw that her eyes were split in half gray, half silver. "This isn't working." She cocked her head to the side. "And I can't hear them anymore."

"Shit," I cursed. "Alright, fine. Be ready for a fight the moment we get inside." I awkwardly grasped my staff in my right hand, and then thrust it at the door. "_Forzare!_"

My arm screamed in pain with the amount of power I threw out, but the gate door was blasted off its hinges and flew off down a street. I quickly switched my staff back to my left hand and dug my right into the pocket with my iron ball bearings, wincing at their added weight. Iron was one of those "extra real" materials that stressed and grew heavier in the Nevernever, and with my weakened grip I couldn't grab as many as I'd have liked. Five would have to do, and the baseball was right out.

Past the gate there was a somewhat wide and very straight road that seemed to run the length of the fort, all the way to the back wall. About sixty feet ahead of us the road stretched out into a plaza, surrounded by buildings that looked only slightly unkempt and dilapidated.

As we stepped through the hole I'd blown open, the damaged piece of gate ahead of us started quivering, and we both only had a brief warning to scatter before it came flying back the way it came, lodging itself back into position and sealing us inside.

"Are you sure this is the place?" I asked.

"Yes. We're close. I can feel it."

As she said that, a group of enormous mastiffs built from shadows and soot slunk in from the unseen sides of the plaza, taking positions along the road. Lucille responded to that by drawing her sword. I just swallowed.

As the hellhounds watched us with their flat, black eyes, the soft padding of bare feet against stone filled the air, impossibly loud given the distance between us and the hounds. A figure came out from around the corner, a very tall, slender, and inhumanly beautiful figure. She had red hair that curled down past her hips in a wild cascade, and her flawless skin, high cheekbones, lush blood red lips, and emerald green dress looked almost exactly as I remembered them. The only difference that gave me any semblance of hope was the complete lack of true recognition in her golden, catlike eyes.

"Is that the hunter?" Lucille asked in a low tone.

"Yes," I replied. "The Leanansidhe."

Though I said it in a bare whisper, she laughed in response, the sound of my voice somehow reaching her.

"I see you remember me," she purred. "How sweet."

* * *

Author's Note: To cut off this particular thread of wild speculation before it starts: she's referring to a meeting within the scope of the story, not any prior relationship.


	41. Chapter 3-XV

**December 1069**

For all that Mab had haunted me on Avalon, she hadn't really been my jailer. Her responsibilities as Queen of Winter kept her away for long stretches of time, something I had been thankful for. In her place though, she'd left somewhat of a rotating cast of wardens. And the most frequent "visitor" had been the Leanansidhe.

Every moment around her had been deeply and intensely uncomfortable. And it wasn't because of anything she'd done, necessarily. She'd never gotten physical with me for one, despite the many, _many_ implications and nudges about "preparing" me for Mab. She'd acted more like Mab's wing woman than anything else. It was just dissonant to be around her.

My history with Lea was very checkered. She'd suckered me into a deal when I was sixteen, then spent the next ten years chasing after me, trying to enslave me and turn me into a dog. She'd used the lives of my friends against me, had come close to killing me, and had been a general pain in my ass. But she'd also protected me and kept me safe, and had been a very important part of saving my daughter. And she'd been a connection to my mother, however crazy.

But the Leanansidhe in front of me was just… wrong, by comparison. And someone I couldn't really negotiate with; even if she was willing to creatively interpret Mab's orders, it would only be to her benefit. Not mine.

"You made a very memorable impression," I said, gripping the ball bearings tight in my right hand. Eight hellhounds, one Leanansidhe, a vampire with uncertain loyalties, and me. This Leanansidhe wasn't as strong as Lea, I'd learned that during my escape, but she was still stronger than me. That didn't mean I couldn't sucker punch her, I had, and I planned to again, but the hellhounds complicated things.

"Good. I would just hate for it to be otherwise," she said, a smirk creeping over her features. "And you've led me on a merry chase through this graveyard. But it ends now."

Graveyard. Interesting tidbit, that. I didn't really notice it in the moment, too focused on not getting distracted and blindsided.

"Yeah, sure," I said, not really interesting in negotiating at this stage. That had never gone well for me with her. "Out of curiosity, what happens if I don't call your boss?"

"Then as her handmaiden it would fall to me to persuade you," she said. "To see the desired point of view."

"What's she talking about?" Lucille muttered.

"You know how you and other vampires make thralls?" I muttered back.

"Ah."

"Nothing so crude, Harry," the Leanansidhe said, beginning to sashay forward, her pack following in a line. "Nothing so blunt."

"I notice you didn't dispute that last part about becoming a thrall. And your boss wonders why I'm so hesitant to come running to her," I said, shifting my posture and carefully watching her approach.

"Is she truly worse than the vampire you so freely consort with?" the Leanansidhe asked, her eyes briefly flickering to Lucille's sword. "Am I?"

"That's not my sword, it's hers. You're seeing a metaphor that doesn't exist. And yes, on both counts. Much worse, in fact," I said.

"Mmm. And you, my dear?" the Leanansidhe asked, looking at Lucille. "You must be tired and hungry. Can I offer you anything, refreshments perhaps?"

Lucille glanced at me, but I didn't return it. I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the Leanansidhe. If she even suspected Lucille and I had soulgazed, things were bound to get _interesting_. She'd probably start bargaining for Lucille's memory of the event, and offering a lot in the process.

"What happens if I say yes?" Lucille asked me.

"Best case, you're trapped with her until she lets you go," I said. "Never take anything freely offered by a faerie."

"Sidhe," the Leanansidhe interrupted, annoyed. She was still getting closer.

"I'm speaking generally here," I said in reply. "It's treated as a gift and puts you in their debt. Bad idea all around."

The one upshot of the entire Avalon affair was that I never got hungry or thirsty there. If I had, I would've been so screwed. Then again, I'd made my staff out of a fallen branch I'd found there and it stuck around even after I ended up in England instead of dissolving into ectoplasm, so there was clearly something extra-weird about that place.

"Then would you like safe passage?" the Leanansidhe asked, smiling at Lucille. "When I take the wizard, you will be trapped here, doomed to go mad with Hunger."

Lucille glanced at me, and I sighed and nodded. Then I mouthed, "If."

"And what would I need to do in return?" Lucille asked.

The Leanansidhe stopped twenty feet away from us, her hellhounds forming a semi-circle in front of her. "That you stand aside, and not interfere with my task," the Leanansidhe said.

She was as close as she was going to get, and I could maybe nab a few hellhounds while I was at it. So, before Lucille could come to any kind of decision or the Leanansidhe could react, I threw my right hand low and let the ball bearings fly. Then, the moment they were airborne I yelled, "_Forzare!_"

The ball bearings shot out like bullets and streaked towards the Leanansidhe's legs. One missed completely and the other lost a great deal of momentum tearing through a hellhound's head, but the other three all punched through one of the Leanansidhe's thighs.

A scream of rage and pain split the air as skin cracked and burst into flame, her leg buckling. I followed that up with a quick punch to the air and discharged my force rings. Five months of charging had built up quite the kick, and the rings struck the Leanansidhe right in her nice creamy bosom and sent her toppling head over heels.

"Run!" I yelled.

Lucille cut left down a side street and didn't swipe at my legs, for which I was grateful, and I immediately took off after her. A second later the frenzied baying of hounds went up with the Leanansidhe's screams, and the thunder of paws against stones came a second after that. I spared a glance over my shoulder just in time to see seven angry dogs leap around the corner. As they did so I grasped my staff in two hands, thrust it over and past my head, and waited until the hellhounds started coming at me before yelling, "_Geodas!_"

Last time I'd used this spell, I'd done it without a focus and a small chunk of soulfire. This time, I had a focus, and I used a larger chunk of soulfire and even more power.

A fifteen-foot long stretch of street crumpled and broke apart into a sinkhole in the span of a heartbeat. Snarls and howls turned into panicked yelps as hellhounds lost their footing and went tumbling down into the earth, hitting loose stones and hard edges that hadn't fully broken apart. Of the seven that had been chasing me, only two managed to keep their feet, or paws, and bound over to the other side, after me. I cursed, slowed, and turned, plunging my staff down like a spear and cracking open the skull of one hellhound in the process. The other leapt at me and bowled me over, then started trying to bite my face off. I blocked him with my staff, but with the angle, the lack of leverage, and the weakness in my right arm the hellhound was making good progress towards my nose.

Then, in the blink of an eye, the hellhound's head was sheared in half and its body kicked backwards, its head bursting into flame where iron touched fur and flesh. Lucille loomed over me, eyes gone completely silver. She snarled wordlessly, pulled my right hand away from my staff, then forced me to grab the hilt of her sword.

Then she picked me up in a fireman's carry.

"You are infuriating," Lucille hissed.

"I put her down, didn't I?" I said, grunting as her shoulder continuously drove into my chest as she ran.

"I will have your blood, mortal!" the Leanansidhe screamed from somewhere behind us. "You will writhe and scream in agony until I finally tire of you!"

"Yes, I can hear how well you put her down."

From my position across Lucille's back, I had a moment's notice before a thunderbolt of violet and emerald light tore its way through a building towards me. I yelled "Jump!" and twisted my left hand, pointing my staff at the bolt and summoning a shield behind us. The faerie fire hammered into the shimmering blue barrier, and the kinetic bleedthrough propelled us forward through the air. Lucille landed on her feet, then took off to the right, down another, smaller side street.

"The building with the red doors," Lucille said, her voice hungry and enticing. "Get it open."

I looked back the other way and found what Lucille was referring to, a squat two-story stone building with a pair of checkered red doors. I awkwardly maneuvered my staff so that it wouldn't block us, then punched my right hand out. "_Forzare!_"

I used a fifth of the force I'd put into blowing out the gate, but it was still enough to tear the doors off their hinges. Lucille charged inside quick as a galloping courser, and I had maybe a second and a half to realize the inside looked vaguely like a brothel's before she was charging upstairs. Once she got up to the second floor she practically threw me down before tearing down the hallway and kicking open one of the doors. I scrambled to my feet and ran after her, keenly aware of the way the air was starting to get very, very, _very_ cold.

I ran into the room and found Lucille pacing like a cat, her face shining with lust and beauty. "Here?" I asked.

"Yes, here!" she snarled.

"Right." I fumbled staff and sword around. "_Aparturum!_"

The moment the Way started to open the air began to freeze solid all around us. Lucille tore through the rift, and I was only a second behind her throwing myself through the rift. Still, I wasn't quite fast enough, and something caught and froze my legs, leaving me suspended halfway through.

Then strong hands grabbed me and pulled, and I yelled in pain as things cracked and tore. Shards of ice came through with my legs, dissolving into ectoplasm the moment they hit air, and the moment my feet were through I jabbed the end of my staff towards the rift and yelled, "_Instaurabos!_"

There was the beginning of a frustrated scream of rage, and then the rift shut. Whoever was holding me let go and I fell to the ground, groaning. Then I groaned and looked up.

I was at the foot of a bed. A bed occupied by two people that had, very recently, seemed to be going at it. One was Tim. The other was a young woman with wide eyes and heaving chest. Tim's eyes were faintly silver, and he looked confused and wary. The woman looked distracted. Very distracted.

Then something blurred and the woman yelped as she was pinned down to the bed by Lucille. My collar got uncomfortably hot as Lucille stopped holding back on her Hunger and started to feed on the woman.

"Stop," I croaked. Then I winced and pushed myself up onto my elbows. "Stop."

Lucille either didn't hear me or didn't care.

I looked at Tim. "Stop her, before she kills someone!"

Tim looked from me to his sister, then grimaced, grabbed Lucille by the arm, and flung her across the room. Lucille hit the wall and immediately bounded to her feet, lips curled into a snarl, eyes gleaming. She looked at me, her Hunger raging, and took a step towards me.

I rolled around onto my back and pointed the sword at her.

She took another step forward, then stopped. With visible effort, she closed her eyes and reined in her breathing, and the amount of sexual tension in the room steadily decreased. When Lucille opened her eyes again about ten seconds later, there was a significant streak of blue in them.

"Ugh," I said, letting go of staff and sword and slowly getting up onto my knees. I looked over at the woman Lucille had just fed on, and found her lying back on the bed, panting shallowly, eyes rolled up in bliss. She was weak, and out of it, but she was still alive.

Tim broke the silence first. "This is too bizarre to be a dream, and I do not partake of mushrooms or ergot," he said slowly. "So how are you here, and why?"

* * *

Author's Note: Harry sort of had a vague degree of leeway with the Ways at the start of his journey. Shooting iron through the Leanansidhe's thigh put that to bed.


	42. Chapter 3-XVI

**December 1069**

"You came here to fight a demon," Tim summarized.

I'd given him the Cliff Notes version of why I was here and how we got here. He didn't necessarily need to know all the details, like Lucille's initial ultimatum and all the background on the Denarians and whatnot.

"Essentially," I said, wincing as I massaged my legs.

I'd moved so that my back was pressed up against a wall, and I was currently inspecting and soothing my legs. The ice that had trapped me fortunately hadn't managed to cut anything, and it had all dissolved into ectoplasm anyway, but being pulled out of a solid block of ice had given me a number of sprains and bruises. I wasn't going to be running anywhere any time soon.

So now it was me, two vampires, one mostly naked, and one blissfully conked out naked woman in a bed, all together in a room. In retrospect, the situation read like the start to one of Bob's trashy romance novels.

"And you want my help?" Tim asked.

"Well, that would be a plus," I said. "But there are a few things I need to sort out first. Where is here, exactly?"

"The city of York," he said. "The king decided that we should celebrate Christmas, not fight over it."

"York is how far from Berkhamsted?" Lucille asked, having calmed down most of the way.

"I… am not sure," Tim said. "Two hundred miles, thereabouts?"

"Two hundred miles in a quarter of an hour," Lucille marveled, glancing my way.

"Hold your horses," I said. "Tim…othy, when was the solstice?"

Tim had started to make this faint scowl of annoyance at my use of just Tim, but he seemed to accept the longer, Anglicized version. I'm still going to refer to him as Tim in text though, just for the indirect Monty Python reference.

Wait, no, not indirect. Tim's a vampire. "Tim the Enchanter" is an entirely accurate descriptor.

"Three… yes, three days ago," Tim said. "It's Christmas Eve. Or, I suppose it will be soon, it's not yet evening."

Lucille turned to look at me fully.

"In the Nevernever, time can flow faster or slower depending on where you are," I explained. "Fifteen minutes into two days is one of the more extreme examples of time dilation I've experienced, but we still got here much faster than even a chain of horses at full gallop could've."

"You didn't mention that," Lucille said accusingly.

"I was confident we wouldn't lose time," I replied. "And we didn't." I sighed and tried standing, wincing at the strain on my legs. I was going to have to hobble along on my staff for at least the next hour. "Now, I need to start looking into this demon problem. Where's the king?"

"I am unsure, but in all likelihood he is at York Castle. It's damaged, but it is still the most fortified position in the city. And the people here are still rebellious."

So the city was a powder keg. Even better.

"How do I get there?" I asked.

"It's a fairly short walk south, through the streets. Perhaps a quarter of an hour. You should see the castle right away, it's on a motte on this side of the river."

"Okay. Where are we right now?" I asked. "Am I going to have any problems getting there?"

"Leg pain, perhaps. You'd be going down a hill then up a motte. We're in York Minster right now."

Lucille frowned at that and looked around the room again, staring at the sleeping woman and then at the clothes scattered around the room. "Is that a _nun_?"

Tim shrugged shamelessly.

It says some interesting things that we went from a brothel in the Nevernever to a room in a church. I'm sure Tim getting his vampire on was a big part of that, but that couldn't have been enough on its own.

"Not my problem," I muttered. Then, louder, I asked, "Have you seen an older man around your height, spindly, short black hair, maybe in priestly robes, calls himself Cerdic?"

Tim shook his head.

"Have you seen anyone else suspicious?" I asked.

"What do you mean by suspicious?"

"Anyone new that seems out of place, maybe spending a lot of time around the king or Robert or other important people," I said.

"Hmm. Well, there may be one," he said. "A woman, tiny, pretty, short-cut blonde hair–"

"Green eyes, dressed either in robes or like a farm girl, won't meet your eyes?" I finished for him.

Tim nodded.

"I know her," I said, sighing in relief. "She's the opposite of suspicious. Anyone else?"

"Not that I can think of," he replied.

"Alright," I said, shaking my legs to get more feeling into them. "I need to go see what I have to work with, what I can convince the king to do. If you end up deciding to help me, then just, I don't know, wait outside the castle."

"What kind of demon are you hunting? One in the shape of a man?" Tim asked.

"One possessing a man, but with the potential to transform," I said. "Have you ever seen a bear?"

He nodded.

"Now double its size, make its teeth as sharp as swords, add curling ram horns that are strong as steel, and enough speed to outrun a horse," I said.

Tim's eyebrows rose with every added quality.

"And as the cherry on top, it can make itself immune to magic."

"And you are hunting this creature," Tim said.

"Yes."

"You are insane," he said.

"So everyone keeps telling me," I muttered.

I managed to cover myself with a crude veil as I walked out of York Minster, which turned out to be a damaged stone cathedral. I didn't pass a lot of people on the way out, and the people I did pass spent more time looking at me shuffling past quick as I could than formulating responses and questions. Then I came out the front door of the cathedral, saw the sprawling expanse of York and the damaged edifice of York Castle past it, and looked down at the hills and roads I'd have to traverse.

"I don't get paid nearly enough for this," I grumbled as I slung off my rucksack and dug out my painkiller potion. I knew techniques to block out pain, Lash had taught them to me, but using those was dangerous. It didn't eliminate pain or strain, it just shunted them aside, and since pain was a sign that something was wrong, ignoring pain wasn't always a good idea. The painkiller was a decent compromise there; enough to take the edge off, not enough to block out the nerve signals entirely.

I noticed a definite and interesting tension in the air as I started walking towards York Castle. The streets were decked out for the holidays, wreaths and garlands of holly, mistletoe, ivy, and other kinds of foliage hung off sign posts, door frames, windows. There was a sense of festivity, of impending celebration. But under that I could see an undercurrent of wariness. People were tense, throwing unhappy glances at the castle I was heading to. The streets weren't very full, and I occasionally came across small patrols that drew glares when the townsfolk thought the soldiers weren't looking. Kill an unpopular king in a rebellious territory on the eve of the longest and debatably holiest holiday of the year?

Nicodemus himself couldn't have picked a better time and place.

We'd arrived sometime around noon, judging by the position of the sun, which hopefully gave me at least six hours before Ursiel would strike – assuming he was in York, of course. Between Helga, maybe Malfoy, and even more maybe the vampires, we just could stand a chance, if we approached the problem intelligently.

If.

Getting to the base of York Castle or motte or whatever didn't take long. I wasn't stopped by anyone, and the roads were fairly sensibly laid out. Now, getting inside, that was a different matter. Maybe I should have brought Tim.

Now, I could have just used the blending potion to slip past them, but I didn't want to use that for something so simple. I was hoping to save it for Ursiel, or rather Cerdic. But that meant I needed to somehow talk my way past the guards at the front gate.

That was going to be fun.

I started the climb up the steep motte, wincing all the way. The guards noticed my approach, but since I was seemingly unarmed, moving slowly, and not making any threatening motions, they just watched me. Fortunately they looked Norman, so this next part would hopefully be easier.

"Excuse me, good men," I said, deciding to lay it on thick. "Is Robert, Count of Mortain inside?"

The two guards glanced at each other, before one of them answered, "What business is it of yours?"

"I have a message of great importance I need to deliver to him, in person," I said.

"Do you now?" the guard asked.

"Yes. Please, good men, could you just let him know I wish to speak with him?" I asked.

The guard who was speaking looked at the guard that wasn't, and the second guard sighed. "What's your name?" the second one asked.

"Harry Dresden."

"Wait here," he said.

I nodded and leaned on my staff as the guard went inside the gate and disappeared into the castle. The other guard didn't look like the type for small talk, so we just stood there in silence. About five minutes later, the second guard came back out and walked up to me. "The Count will see you. Follow me."

"Thank you," I said, beginning to hobble after him.

York Castle was smaller than Berkhamsted Castle. Judging by the way it was made of wood, it had been set up as a somewhat emergency measure to secure territory. Judging by the way it was damaged, that hadn't worked out so well.

It took us two minutes of walking through wooden halls before we came to a thick wooden door. The guard stopped, knocked on the door, and waited for a voice that sounded like William's to yell, "Enter!"

I opened the door and hobbled inside, taking a quick count of the occupants. There was William, Robert, Malfoy, and Helga, all sat around a long rectangular table. All of them looked surprised to see me.

"Hello," I said. Then I hobbled over to the nearest chair and sat down with a sigh of relief. The guard closed the door after me, and then we were alone.

It took a few moments for Helga to break the silence. In English. "Harry, I thought you were dead."

"Why, because I didn't reply to whatever reply you sent back?" I asked.

"Yes!" she cried. "You sent me a scrawled rambling letter about a demon coming to kill the king and said what to do in the event of your death, and that was it! That was the last I heard of you."

"Yeah, well, I was busy getting here in a hurry," I said. "Nice to know you care though."

Helga sighed.

"How did you get here, if I may ask?" William asked, in a tone that suggested not answering wasn't an option. Also in English, for reference.

I glanced at Helga and Malfoy. "Did you tell him about the Ways?"

Both Helga and Malfoy looked at me as if I was insane. Oh well. That feeling was going around anyway.

"In short, your highness, there is a realm of Faerie adjacent to this world," I said, shuffling and shifting around in my seat. "Traveling through it is highly dangerous, and not something to be done lightly, but if you know the right paths, you can travel long distances in short amounts of time. Assuming you don't die in the process, that is, as I nearly did."

There. A passable public explanation of the Ways that didn't put any ideas into William's head about marching an army through the Ways and getting them all killed by irate fae.

"And you traveled here to warn me of an assassination attempt by a demon," William said slowly. He sounded skeptical, but not heavily so; evidently Malfoy must have explained that demons were very real and it wasn't inconceivable that one might be sent against him. Well, him or Helga.

"Yes."

"Harry, why?" Helga asked. "One magic resistant demon isn't worth… this! Between all of us," she waved at the rest of the table, "we can handle it."

I stared at her and blinked. "You read my letter, yes?" I asked slowly.

"Yes."

"Did you miss the part where I said it was a Fallen?" I asked.

Helga glanced at Malfoy, who shrugged. "Yes, a demon. I discussed it with Armaund, that was our conclusion."

I sighed, put an elbow on the table, and pinched the bridge of my nose. "This is what I was afraid of," I said, my eyes closed. "You not getting it." I took a deep breath, opened my eyes, and raised my head. "I was not exaggerating, misattributing, or miscategorizing, Helga. I meant exactly what I wrote. There is a literally God-damned Fallen Angel coming to kill the king."

For a few seconds, there was absolute silence. Then, Malfoy scoffed. "Now I know you've gone insane. The Fallen are trapped in Hell. To summon them into this world while loosening even a small portion of their bindings would require the synchronized sacrifice of thousands of people."

I leaned my staff against the table and crossed my arms as I tried to figure out how to make Malfoy see reason, how to get the danger across without going into detail about what the Denarians were, how they came about. Because to be honest, I didn't trust Malfoy and William to know about the Coins, about how the Fallen worked. William had started a war just to get a crown. What would he do to get the power promised by a Coin? And even if I did go into all that detail, I still didn't have any firm proof at hand.

Fine. I didn't really need Malfoy, when it came down to it. An extra, average wizard with little real combat experience wasn't going to make a difference when it came to Ursiel. He could be more useful as an emergency last line of defense-slash-evacuation.

"Disregard me, then," I said with a shrug. "But when the massive demonic bear breaks into this castle and starts killing everyone inside, don't waste time trying to put it down. Just grab the king and run." With that said, I ignored him and turned to Helga. "What was your plan?"

"To fortify the castle and set up detection wards that would alert us when something spiritual tried to enter," she replied.

"Basic, but not nearly enough," I said. "In bear form he'll shrug off any direct magical assault. And dropping the roof in on him probably isn't going to kill him." I leaned back and started tapping my foot. "Warding the entire castle would take too long. Fortifying a single room is more feasible, but then Ursiel will just slaughter everyone else and set fire to the castle before moving onto the army and the town."

"Then what would you suggest?" William asked.

I sighed. "Somehow, we need to find the Fallen's host, Cerdic, before he transforms. Then…" I took a deep breath. "Then we'll need to kill him."

I know that's not how the Knights do it. The Knights prefer to try and redeem the Denarians, give them an opportunity for redemption. And if I had more reliable allies, more firepower, I would have tried to do that for Cerdic. But I didn't. The only viable option I could see that didn't risk things spiraling horribly out of control was to sucker punch Cerdic before Ursiel came out.

And if everything played out that way, there would be no proof of the Fallen. No proof of Ursiel. Malfoy would still think I was insane. William might buy into that. And I would've risked my sanity and freedom and pissed off Mab's right-hand woman for no tangible reward or recognition.

My life in a nutshell.

"Do you believe him?" William asked his brother in French.

"It was difficult for me to follow the conversation," Robert replied. "But there was mention of a Fallen Angel of God coming to kill you?"

William nodded.

"I do not know if Harry is correct," Robert said. "But he has never struck me as one to exaggerate. Whatever the truth may be, I believe that he genuinely believes you to be in grave danger."

"And his proposal to kill a man on his say-so?"

"More problematic, but it is not as if assassins are given much grace," Robert said before turning to look at me. "How did you learn of this demon?"

"John heard about it through other members of the Church, and came to me to see if I could help," I said.

"And John believes this to be a serious matter?" Robert asked.

I nodded.

"Then that is enough for me."

"You would take him just at his word?" William asked, faintly surprised.

"John is a wise and learned man, and it will be simple enough to check if Harry is telling the truth once I return to Berkhamsted," Robert said. "And I do not see what Harry could gain from telling an elaborate lie just to try and kill a man. If it was not warranted I don't imagine he would come to us and spin this tale in the first place."

"Hmm." William turned to look at Malfoy. "Your thoughts?"

"If the madman wants to hunt a demon then let him," Malfoy said, exasperated. "Perhaps he'll die and we'll be spared of his lunacy. And if there is no demon then there is no threat."

Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence there. Just completely ignore the seriousness of the situation.

I took a few deep breaths and bit down on my next few responses. This... this wasn't productive anymore. I had to leave before I did something stupid.

"Great. Glad we've got that sorted," I said, getting up from my chair and grabbing my staff. "Are you coming, Helga?"

Helga looked between me, William, and Malfoy. William beat her to the punch.

"I did not say you could go."

I took a deep breath, looked at William, and fought down my first and immediate response. "With all due respect," a phrase that in my experience has never involved any respect at all, "I am not going to sit here and watch people die because you refuse to believe me." Then, before I could lose my temper, I just turned and walked out of the room.

What a goddamn waste of time that was.

As I started walking down the halls back out of the castle, I heard the fast paced plodding of boots on wood that signified someone short was coming after me. "Harry!"

I turned at Helga's hiss and I turned to look at her. She stopped short a few feet away from me, whatever expression I had on my face giving me pause.

"Helga, either go back in there and smooth things over, or come with me and help. I don't have the time or the energy to argue, not after the trip I just finished," I said. Then I started walking away again. "Should've just dealt with Cerdic directly and not bothered with any of this."

I heard Helga sigh and grab my hand. "Harry," she said in a calmer tone. I turned to look at her. "There's an inn in town, this side of the Ouse. The Drunken Hog."

I snorted faintly and Helga narrowed her eyes at me. "I sent messages to Rowena and Salazar once I got yours, telling them to meet there. I don't know if Salazar has arrived yet, but Rowena's there. Go find her, start figuring things out. Once I'm finished here I'll come join you."

"Thank you," I said sincerely.

"How bad is it?" she asked in a quieter voice. "Really?"

"If Ursiel transforms, we're probably all going to die," I replied. "And I would really prefer that not happen."

And that assumed that Ursiel was alone. Last time I'd seen Ursiel it had taken three Knights of the Cross to put him down, including one that made Nicodemus wary. If there were more Denarians around, and no Knights? Then there was no probably about it.

When I made it back down the motte and got back into the city proper, I found two familiar, fully-dressed figures waiting for me.

"Timothy. Lucille," I said. "What have you decided?"

"You believe there is a demon coming to kill the king and the earl, yes?" Tim asked.

"And every Norman it can get its paws on, start a massive rebellion off with a bloody slaughter," I said.

"Well, as one sworn to a Norman, I can't be having that," he said. "I assume you have a plan that doesn't involve fighting a massive bear with a sword, however?"

"The start of one."

He nodded. "What do I get if I fight the bear, incidentally?"

"The satisfaction of killing a demon and being a hero," I said.

"The satisfaction of being a hero usually includes such things as fame, riches, and women," Tim noted.

"I can't offer any of that. And I doubt anyone will believe you about the demon part anyway."

"Shame."

"Yeah. Playing hero sucks," I said. "Do you know where to find an inn called the Drunken Hog? It's supposed to be on this side of the Ouse, which I assume is the river that runs through town."

"That it is," Tim confirmed. "And as it so happens, I do."


	43. Chapter 3-XVII

**December 1069**

I was half-expecting the Drunken Hog to be this eccentric, slightly bizarre place just by the name, but it turned out to be fairly normal. At least at first glance, maybe there was something under the surface I hadn't noticed.

I came in first, Tim and Lucille a second behind me. We did it this way so that all eyes would be on the incredibly tall, strangely dressed man with prominent facial scars and a white staff and not the strangely effeminate mercenary that came in right after.

While the two vampires went to grab a table, I took a moment to look around the room, searching for anyone that looked like Rowena, or Rowena under a light glamour. I didn't. That didn't really surprise me, Rowena struck me as the type to avoid crowds and people, but it did make this a little more complicated. Not by much though.

The vampires had commandeered a round corner table with chairs for four. Tim was sat so that he faced the rest of the inn, while Lucille sat opposite of him and had her back to everyone. I sat down at one of the open chairs and, after getting comfortably settled, started lightly drumming my fingers against my staff, pulsing small amounts of power through it in a rhythm. I didn't do anything in particular with that power, I just let it radiate outwards. It was the magical equivalent of tapping a knife against glass to get a room's attention.

Hmm, there's an idea: incorporate Morse code into the lesson plans. Makes for a convenient, if not always quiet, way to communicate.

About a minute or two later someone came down the stairs. I glanced at her, my eyes slid off, and I kept tapping my staff even as she looked around, spotted me, and started heading to the table I was sitting at. It was only when she was less than a dozen feet away from me that I took a second, harder look, and the way my eyes kept wanting to slide off her prompted me to really focus on her.

Rowena sat down across from me a moment later, dressed in fine blue robes that should have made her stand out even more than me. No one was really looking at her however. Even Tim and Lucille seemed to be having trouble acknowledging her, and she was sitting right beside them.

"Rowena, can you include these two in whatever it is you're doing?" I asked softly.

Rowena glanced left and right and nodded. A second later the light mental buzzing that had started up behind my eyes faded, and the vampires both blinked and looked at her.

Mind magic was a very gray field as far as the White Council and the Laws were concerned. Some parts were allowed, like suggestions and surface illusions and telepathy, but as mind magic in general involved "invading the mind of another" the bulk of the field was banned. That Rowena was good enough at it to project a Someone Else's Problem field that could affect me without making me even slightly suspicious was interesting.

Both Tim and Lucille shifted away from her slightly after that. Which was also understandable; Tim hadn't seen me use magic at all, and Lucille had only seen portions. Even then, I think they thought I was predominantly a kind of magical brute. Seeing someone walk right up to them and sit down without drawing their attention was an entirely different thing.

"Harry," Rowena said. "Who are these two?"

I glanced over my shoulder and found that the bar wasn't paying attention to us.

"Vampires who've agreed to help me with the demon problem," I said.

Tim and Lucille frowned slightly at that, while Rowena took a second, longer look at them both. "Why?" she asked curiously.

Tim looked at his sister then and arched an eyebrow, as if asking the same question.

"That's a matter between me and them," I said. "The important thing right now is that they've agreed."

"Assuming your plan doesn't involve suicidal heroics," Tim interjected. "I'm rather fond of the idea of not getting maimed. Or killed."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said.

Rowena turned to look at Lucille, looking her up and down curiously. "Is this the vampire you mentioned?"

It took me a moment to process Rowena's question. Once I did, I coughed and hammered my chest a few times. "Uh... no. No, she is not."

Lucille arched an eyebrow in my direction.

"It really isn't important," I said, looking directly at Rowena. "Really."

Thankfully, Rowena didn't elaborate.

"Getting back to the important things, I don't suppose you've managed to find out where Ursiel is, Rowena?"

She shook her head. "No. H... we concluded there wasn't going to be an easy way to detect the demon, especially if it resists magic. Instead I've been thinking of ways to damage the demon, assuming it is both tough and impervious to direct assaults."

"And?" I asked.

"So far I've considered transfiguring wooden beams into heavy stone and having them fall on the demon, removing the ground from under it and entombing it alive, somehow binding it tightly with non-magical chains to immobilize it for others to kill, or getting it to fall into a perilous region of the Nevernever. I've spent the last few hours trying to see if I could somehow manage a moving rift in order to affect that last method." She frowned in disappointment. "So far I haven't made any progress."

I pursed my lips and put a fist up to my cheek, thinking.

"You doubt those will work?" Rowena asked.

"No, they could. The trouble is it's a huge, tough bear as tall as I am that can leap a few dozen feet in a bound," I said. "And it can get pretty fast. Can't turn or accelerate very well, but once it gets going you're not stopping it without a lot of effort." I leaned back and crossed my arms, tapping the base of my staff with a foot while its head poked up against mine. "And if it realizes we're wizards, it might soulgaze us just to throw us off."

Rowena frowned at me. "It's a demon. It doesn't have a soul."

"It doesn't have a human soul," I corrected. "But the person who's hosting it does, and he'll be conscious, and aware, and probably contributing. And if the host catches you in a soulgaze, the demon is going to give you a splitting headache in the process of kicking you out." I scratched the back of my head. "I'm speaking from experience here."

"And your plan is to kill the host," Tim guessed. "Before he becomes a demon."

"Dealing with a regular person is a lot easier than dealing with a rampaging demon-bear," I confirmed. "The trouble is in finding and surprising him. The host, Cerdic, doesn't look any different for being possessed. He might be dressed as a priest, he might not be. In any case, he's going to find it incredibly easy to fit in; while Ursiel isn't the most devious demon, it's still very intelligent, with a good grasp of human psychology, and a perfect grasp of every language in the world. Even if we had the manpower to go door to door looking for a Saxon priest that fit his description, and the city didn't revolt in the process, we'd have to get improbably lucky to find him."

"Could he be biding his time in the cathedral?" Lucille asked.

"He could be, but I doubt it," I said. "Holy ground isn't a hard barrier to a demon like Ursiel, but it still doesn't appreciate it." I frowned. "Though if Cerdic isn't that far gone he could be there anyway, in defiance of Ursiel's preferences. And it would be a great place to hide out and wait; if we tried to canvas York Minster for him that would set off the tension." I looked at Tim. "When that poor nun recovers, do you think you could ask her about Cerdic? Without feeding on her?"

"Spindly, short black hair, older man, yes?" Tim asked.

I nodded.

"Perhaps. And if he is?" Tim asked.

"Then we'll figure things out then. And don't tap into your Hunger while you're there; if Cerdic's around, Ursiel will notice if you're doing anything... vampy."

"Vampy?" Tim asked, arching an eyebrow.

"You get my point."

Tim sighed and looked around. "Now?" he asked.

"My guess is Ursiel's going to strike some time after twilight, once the celebrations start in earnest. So yes, now."

Tim glanced at Lucille. After a nod from him, he sighed heavily and got up. "The things I do for family."

I didn't miss the way Lucille turned away in response.

"What if he isn't in the cathedral?" Rowena asked once Tim had left.

"That is an excellent question," I said, shifting my staff so that it leaned against the table. Then I laced my fingers together and put my chin on the platform, thinking.

Say Cerdic wasn't in the church, or that we didn't have a good way to get to him even if he was. What was Uriel's intention in sending me here? There were only so many coincidences he could arrange. The easiest way to find Ursiel would be to lay in wait for his assault, but that plan came with a big issue. Namely, if Ursiel attacked directly, it would be a bloodbath and we would be lucky to jury-rig a way to drive him off, let alone stop him. If I somehow assassinated Cerdic before Ursiel could come out, then I was passing up his chance at redemption. Maybe Cerdic was already too far gone and I didn't have to worry about that, but I wasn't too sure about that. Word had gotten to John about Cerdic after all, which suggested Cerdic hadn't killed the other priests at whatever obscure rural church Ursiel's coin had been kept at. Cerdic wanted Ursiel's help to do something, but it wasn't necessarily to revel in slaughter.

So how could I find Cerdic, give him a fair shake, and not screw up my one chance to deal with Ursiel all at once?

I glanced down at the back of my left hand and hesitated.

Snakeboy Cassius had been able to feel the mark Lasciel had left on me, had been able to feel that I didn't have her coin on me. Presumably, he'd used magic to do that. But Nicodemus, someone directly hooked up to a Fallen, hadn't been able to sense that Lash was gone, that I no longer had the coin. Now maybe that was because my connection to Lasciel's coin hadn't been fully broken, but I wasn't so sure. And even if that was the case, it didn't matter. I knew, somehow, that if I called Lasciel's coin to me right now, it would come. So some kind of connection was still there, one that Ursiel could potentially pick up on if coin-detection was something the Fallen in general could do, rather than something that required magic.

But I didn't need Lasciel. I had Lash's memories, however much it hurt to access them. And I had way more magic than Snakeboy Cassius. If Ursiel was in York, I could find him, if I was willing to suffer the head pains that would result.

I sighed as the plan came together in my mind. There was a way to get Ursiel's attention, to get Cerdic to show up, to give him a real glimpse at how bad things could get with the Denarians, even work the assassination into the attempted redemption.

I just had to be pretend to be a Denarian.


	44. Chapter 3-XVIII

**December 1069**

I reached into the pocket that served as my wallet and dug out a silver penny. I looked it over, turning it around in my hand, compared its dimensions to those of the Denarii I'd come across. It wasn't exact, and the composition wasn't the same, but they were similar. Small coins, made of silver, low denomination, carved with a face on one side and a symbol on the other.

"Do you have a room here?" I asked Rowena. "I need somewhere to work."

"I do. It's not very large," she replied.

"It'll have to do," I said. "Where is it?"

"Up the stairs, two doors down, on your left," Rowena said, digging out a key. "What are you going to be doing?"

"Thaumaturgy," I said. "Cerdic has an anchor on him, an item that keeps the demon from fully possessing him." That wasn't really true, but I needed some workable explanation fit for everyone, including the vampires. "I can't track Cerdic, and I can't track the demon, but I can track that anchor. But it's going to need some work."

"Do you need my assistance?" Rowena asked, holding out the key.

I took it. "Not right now. Wait for Timothy, the guy that just left, and Helga to get back. Then come see how I'm progressing."

"And if your idea doesn't work, and this Cerdic isn't at the cathedral?" Rowena asked.

"Then I'll figure out a Plan C," I said.

As I moved to get up, Lucille coughed and pointedly looked at Rowena. I sighed.

"Alright, if you need me to get formal about this. Rowena, Timothy and Lucille are here to help at my request. I don't need you to be friendly or personable, but I do need you to work with them. And not attack and kill them for being vampires."

Rowena looked at Lucille. "Do you agree to do the same in reverse? To work with me and my friends and not attack and kill us?"

Lucille nodded, followed by Rowena a moment later.

"Great. Now I really need to get going," I said.

I went upstairs, followed Rowena's directions, and opened the door on the archetypal medieval inn room: one bed snug against the wall, a small round table with a candle, the floor, a window, and not a whole lot of space. There was also a rucksack on the floor, which I presumed was Rowena's. I sat down on the bed, sighed as my legs finally got to properly relax, and started digging through my rucksack. I pulled out my carving tools, set them down on the bed, put the unlit candle down on the floor, and dragged the table in front of me. Then I set to work.

On its own, an English penny was not a good link to a Denarius. It was too generic, more likely to pick up the hundreds if not thousands of similar coins in the city before the Fallen-possessed one. So I needed to redesign the penny.

I was aware that I didn't have as much time as I would have liked, so I was forced to make minuscule uses of soulfire to cut corners. First, I shaved down the front and back as lightly as I could, removing the prior iconography and detail work. Then I started digging into Lash's memories. I pulled out an image of Ursiel's coin, both sides of it, and started first with the portrait, the one that reflected Ursiel's chosen humanoid form.

I had less than three hours of sunlight, maybe another two hours of twilight, and who knows how many hours until Cerdic and Ursiel decided to strike. Time was running out.

About halfway through my face carving, the door opened to admit Rowena and Helga, who both paused when they saw me taking a carving knife to a penny.

"Harry, why are you marking up a coin?" Helga asked.

"As a ritual focus," I replied absentmindedly.

"Yes, I understand that, but why a coin?" she pressed.

I stopped, pursed my lips, and looked up at them. "Close the door, and come in."

They did so, moving to the far end of the room by the window.

"Have either of you heard of the Order of the Blackened Denarius?" I asked.

Helga shook her head, while Rowena looked up at the ceiling and furrowed her brow. "It sounds… familiar," she said. "I think I've seen it in some texts regarding the history of the White Council. I never looked much further; I just assumed it to be a council of warlocks or some such thing."

"Oh, if only," I said. "That would be so much better than the actual truth." I took a deep breath and went back to my carving. "You know the story of Judas? Got paid thirty silver coins to sell out Christ?"

I saw them both nod out of the corner of my eye.

"Right. Well, I'm not sure whether we're talking about the exact same thirty coins, but around that time, the Prince of Darkness somehow managed to send thirty of the most troublesome Fallen Angels in Hell up to Earth, and bound them to thirty silver coins. Whosoever takes one up gets to call upon their power, in exchange for the Fallen influencing them. Angelic knowledge, hellish connections, a demonic battle form." I glanced up at them. "Like a massive rampaging demon-bear that can become immune to magic. The people the Fallen influence, their hosts, are called Denarians."

"What happens when a Denarian dies?" Rowena asked.

"They die. They're still human underneath. And the Fallen's coin falls out, free for anyone else to pick up. All it needs is a moment of skin contact, and they've got you," I said. "Cerdic isn't possessed, not really. He's entirely human. He can just call on the power of a Fallen. That's why I'm carving up a coin. Specifically, as close a copy of Ursiel's coin as I can manage. Now, did Timothy get back? What did he say?"

"That his… companion has not seen or heard of anyone by Cerdic's description," Rowena said.

"Speaking of which, are those the vampires from Berkhamsted?" Helga asked.

"Yeah. I had to use the sister as a guide through the Nevernever to get to the brother," I replied.

Helga nodded slowly. "Okay. Because that makes sense. Now, there are thirty of these… Denarians, yes?"

"Well, probably not right now. A decent number are probably in the Church's safekeeping, but that doesn't always work out. Case in point, Cerdic. He was one of the people in charge of keeping Ursiel locked down, and now here he is," I said. "But yes, there are a lot of Denarians."

"Do we know that Ursiel is the only one here?" Helga asked. "What if there are more?"

"Then we pray to God he sends a miracle, because otherwise we're fucked," I said bluntly. "Either we all die, or we pull out one of those nice fancy 'sell your soul out for power' deals you just seem to get by being a wizard long enough."

"I… what?" Helga asked.

"It's true," Rowena said. "Just being a wizard attracts offers of patronage and power."

"I haven't gotten any."

"You're young. Just wait."

Helga frowned. "Is that something we'll have to deal with for Hogwarts?"

"Please don't use that name," I groaned. "And stop distracting me. Time is short and I need to get this done."

"Sorry," she said. "Is there any way we can help?"

I paused for a moment. "Start setting up a full ritual circle, but don't close it yet. Are the vampires waiting downstairs?"

"They're eating," Rowena said. My stomach chose that moment to rumble.

"That's a great idea. One I should get to when I have the time," I muttered.

I got back to work, and about a quarter of an hour to half an hour later, got done with Ursiel's face. Then I flipped the coin and started on Ursiel's sigil. That, thankfully, took less time than the face; while it was more intricate than the portrait, there were fewer minute details and more arcs and lines. Still, by the time I was done the sunlight was a solid, ruddy red.

When I was done, I sighed and stretched my legs. Helga gave me a few seconds to recover before asking a relevant, hard-hitting question. "Harry, how do you know what the Fallen's coin looks like?"

I set the replica down on the table in front of me. "Because I knew a guy who used to be a Denarian, until he saw the light and gave up his coin." I rolled my shoulders back and started working some of the kinks out of my back. "He told me a lot about the Order. Plus, I've seen Ursiel's coin once before."

"Won't it recognize you then?" she asked.

"Coin," I emphasized. I didn't feel comfortable lying to Helga and Rowena about this, but there was really no way I could describe the totality of my experience with the Denarians, so I had to fudge. Hard. "So no, it won't." I sighed. "But my knowledge does play in to a part of the plan that you definitely won't like."

Helga and Rowena both gave me a concerned look, one more than the other. In response, I dug further into Lash's memories and winced as the column of soldiers in my head upgraded to a marching band.

"I'm going to need to pretend to be one of them," I said, carefully stepping into the circle. "And that's going to involve me saying a lot of things that sound horrible. What you're going to have to keep in mind is that no matter how convincing I might look and sound, I'll be lying."

"Can you convincingly fake being one?" Rowena asked.

I muttered "Lumen, camerus, factum" and let the image flow out. The bottom of my duster broke apart into smoke that clouded my entire lower half, forming purplish mist that clung and drifted around me in tendrils. And then there was the part I couldn't see but could easily imagine: a second set of eyes, purple and entirely ornamental, opening above my own. I skipped her sigil though; I didn't know if that would draw her attention, and I didn't want to take the risk.

"Yeah, I think I can," I said in a dual-toned voice that was a mix of mine and Lash's.

There wasn't a mirror on hand to check properly, but just from what I could see and hear, the mist and the voice, the partial hologram was good. Perfect, even, definitely better than my normal illusions. It discomfited me, but I knew it would only help when it came to Ursiel.

I let the spell go, and tried to ignore the faintly disturbed looks pointed my way. I got down on my knees, settled down comfortably, closed the circle with an effort of will, and took off my left-hand glove. Then I balled my hand up into a fist around the replica of Ursiel's coin. Lastly, I closed my eyes and pictured a black void, broken up only by a pair of identical leather La-Z-Boy chairs. I sat down in one. Alterna-Harry appeared in the other.

"You know, I'm touched you're finally coming to me for advice, for once, but I'm not sure what you expect me to do," he said.

"I need to convince a Denarian I'm on the level," I said.

"I know that, but I can't help with that. I'm not some separate, distinct part of you that you can call up whenever you want to pull off a Dark Lord impression," he replied. "Though you could start by changing your look to be less scruffy."

I sighed. "Look, do you have any suggestions?"

"Dig into Lash's memories for a way to mortally curse Cerdic before he calls on Ursiel," he offered.

"That would be breaking the First Law," I said.

"And when it comes to the Denarians I think there's some acceptable leeway," he replied.

I took a deep breath. "You know what, no, we don't have time for this. You say you know what I'm thinking and what I want. I'm not arguing about this right now. Do you or do you not have a suggestion regarding how to sell the act?"

Alterna-Harry steepled his fingers together right under his chin. "You're planning to contact Ursiel and set up a meeting. And at that meeting, you need to look convincingly evil and megalomaniacal, enough to make Cerdic think twice about going down the rabbit hole without tipping off Ursiel that you're faking. Or, failing that, to present a plan so horrible to Cerdic but intriguing to Ursiel, and forcing a conflict that way."

I nodded.

"Then just be yourself," he said after a moment. "And interpret what you've done so far in the worst, most nefarious light possible. You remember the realization we had on Demonreach, when the Senior Council showed up with a hit squad of Wardens?"

I slowly nodded. "They were cautious. They didn't see a high-strung wizard at the end of his rope who scraped by on luck, they saw a potential nightmare warlock that had gone up against insane odds and come out on top, repeatedly. One who had the interest of the Winter Queen, had taken out the Heirs of Kemmler, and challenged the entire Senior Council."

Alterna-Harry nodded. "Now go a step further. Here you are, trusted advisor to the King of England's brother. You're connected with a group of powerful wizards and witches, looking to create an institute of learning that will allow you to spread your ideals across generations. A man of the cloth aware of the Denarians came to you for help. You have power and influence in the palm of your hand and are at the cusp of making something revolutionary. If a demon attacks tonight, and you stop it, everyone will trust you.

"You don't need to sell anything. You just need to tell the truth. The glowing eyes will do the rest of the villainizing."

I nodded, and cleared the void. Then I pictured the demonic form of Ursiel in my head.

Mentally, I cried out, "Ursiel, hear me!"

* * *

Author's Note: Just imagine Lash sitting on a couch on the other side of the grave, munching on popcorn and reveling in vindication as Harry _finally_ starts taking her advice.


	45. Chapter 3-XIX

**December 1069**

At the back of my mind, I'd always wondered how the Denarians communicated and coordinated with one another. Sure, in the me-modern era they could use phones and the internet, but before that? How did the individual Denarians congregate and cooperate without a simple mundane means of communication, while hiding and not standing out?

The answer, of course, is magic. They had private spells and communication protocols that were only taught to the magically inclined among the Denarians.

And hurrah for me, I had access to those.

Four hours after I'd contacted Ursiel and Cerdic, I was standing in the ruins of the castle upon Baile Hill, on the other side of the river from York Castle. This one had been burnt down and torn apart during a rebellion earlier this year, and William hadn't bothered to renovate it since. As a result, it now lay abandoned, just a husk of blackened, charred wood.

I was waiting at the back of the courtyard, by where the front doors would have been, my backup scattered and hidden throughout the ruins. I stood alone, leaning on my staff, and tried to look as bored as possible. The sun was past the horizon, and night was falling fast.

I was cold, tired, hurting, and not at all certain about what I was about to do. But I didn't see any other option.

A figure crested the motte, making his way to the remnants of the castle gates, and I had to squint to see him. He was five-nine, five-ten at a glance, thin, almost unhealthily pale. He didn't have a lot of muscle tone, and his clothes, while still identifiable as priestly robes, had been through some wear and tear. He had lanky, messy black hair, and he looked faintly haggard, like he hadn't been sleeping well.

I let him get six feet into the courtyard and then called out, in clear Latin, "That's far enough."

The man stopped, and I took a deep breath and blinked once, slowly. When I opened my eyes again, I brought my Sight along with them.

So long as Cerdic was still Cerdic and not Ursiel, I felt relatively safe doing this. Not pleasant, not pleasant at all, but I needed a sense for how Cerdic was doing, how far gone he was. And if that meant getting a side-eyed glance at a Coin, well, so be it.

I didn't see Ursiel, for which I was grateful. Not directly anyway. But I definitely saw his influence.

Cerdic looked almost like a corpse under the Sight, withered and pale and frail. His face was like a mask, cracked and worn away, and emotions bubbled underneath it. Frustration, anger, rage. Shadows leaked out through the cracks, shadows that seeped through his head and came from the dark image of a bear that loomed over him, its claws digging into his shoulders.

With an effort of will, I closed my Sight.

There wasn't a lot to work with. If Cerdic had ever derived fulfillment from being a priest, that had clearly stopped a while ago. And something, maybe the Normans, maybe a life of relative isolation guarding a Coin, maybe something else entirely, had chipped away at him. And now Ursiel was stoking the anger, the hatred. Just like Lash had stoked mine.

In that moment, I realized there was no way I'd be able to appeal to Cerdic directly, not from the start. If I made an honest entreaty, he'd turn it aside. If I tried to play myself up as something horrible, it would just break him further. My only option was to somehow get Ursiel to turn against Cerdic and go from there.

How the hell was I supposed to manage that?

"Brother Cerdic of the Church of Saint Ethelbert the Martyr," I said, leaning on what John had told me. "Or former brother, I suppose."

Cerdic's brow furrowed. "Who are you?" His Latin came out dry, his tone cracking. Ursiel must have been working him hard over the past few weeks.

"You can call me Harry. As for who I am, I am an advisor to the Count of Mortain and through him the King of England." I squared my shoulders and imitated every monologuing warlock and villain I'd ever come across. "And you pose an interesting complication."

Cerdic's eyes widened. "You… you control the king."

"Control the king? No, not directly. That's too obvious, too much effort. Now, control his idiot brother, direct him, influence him, make him see my point of view when appropriate, yes. Which makes you coming here to kill them all rather difficult for me. You see, I dislike people ruining what I've put time and effort into."

That made Cerdic angry, predictably, and I held up a hand.

"Now, before you try anything, do ask Ursiel what your odds are against a wizard backed by foreknowledge, preparation, and Hellfire are." I forced as amused a smile as I could manage. "I'll wait."

This time, when Cerdic replied, a different voice came out, quiet, smooth, and melodious, accompanied by a pair of seething orange eyes. "Enough to hurt you grievously."

Stage two. I released the spell I'd been holding back, and a pair of purple eyes opened above mine, purple mist started to coil at my feet, and a moment later a woman's voice said, "Please, Ursiel, don't make a fool of yourself. It wouldn't stick, you know that."

Ursiel's eyes narrowed on Cerdic's face. "Lasciel. I wasn't aware you were free."

"Times change and we change with them," I replied, drawing on my own memories of Lash and how she acted to try and impersonate her. "Opportunities come about." I gestured towards him and said in my own voice, "Case in point."

There was a twitch, and Cerdic took a step forward. Ursiel's eyes blazed, and he stopped.

This definitely wasn't the Knight-approved way to go about separating a Denarian from their Fallen, but I was at least making some progress on that front.

"Go on," Ursiel said cautiously.

"You see, the Count of Mortain has a learned chaplain in his court. One who knows about the Order. One who knows about Cerdic here breaking you out. One who came to me to see what I could do about it. About you."

Cerdic's posture tensed, and I got the feeling Ursiel was getting ready to come out. I saw someone move behind him, along the broken wall, and instantly dismissed the figure as irrelevant.

"And what are you going to do?" Ursiel asked.

"That depends on you," I said. "You see, I can't have you kill the king and his court. That would set me back years and force me to start all over again with one of his sons. But if you attacked and I were to drive you back, slay and defeat you, why the king would fall all over himself to reward his savior, and the church would see me as one of their own. A perfect cover."

"Until a Knight comes to ruin it."

"There's only one Knight close enough to intervene," I said. It was a guess, but it seemed a safe one. Fidelacchius was probably out East somewhere, and Amoracchius was, well, I don't even know. But I'm not sure it was around. That left Esperacchius.

It would have been really nice if said Knight showed up at that moment, but he didn't.

"And even if he did, there are ways of dealing with him. You know that," I said.

"And why should I agree to return to my prison, Lasciel? To spend years trapped in darkness?" he asked.

"If you agree to cooperate, you won't," I replied with Lash's voice. "We'll cover up your escape, which you should have done in the first place, and you could lay low for a while, until another opportunity comes along. But if you don't, if you try and ruin what I, what _we've,_ worked towards, we'll return you to your prison."

"Is that so?" Ursiel said, Cerdic taking a step forward. I pointed my staff at him.

"Yup," I agreed, back to my own voice. "The choice is pretty simple: try and fight me, lose your host, and then we renegotiate. Maybe I decide I'm not going to trade you in for favor with the church. Or you march him on over, and you take a few mortal hits where appropriate, and I cover this whole thing up, dispose of some, alter the memories of others. And if we succeed in this little play, then the reward is nothing less than influence over an entire nation, every talent minor and major within its borders. You see, I'm part of a circle of wizards, and we aim to form an institution, a center of learning, magical, mundane, of… philosophy. I could do a lot in such a position." Then, in Lash's voice, I added sweetly, "For the Order, of course."

Ursiel's eyes were fixed on mine, while Cerdic's hands were clenched, nails digging into his palms. This was the moment of truth, I could tell. If Ursiel was tempted enough, and Cerdic insulted enough, then maybe I could get Cerdic to toss the coin, refuse to participate. Or Cerdic could decide to run, which was less good but still an improvement over the current situation. It would give time for Salazar to show up, and hopefully, _hopefully_, brink his basilisk. Or Ursiel commandeered Cerdic, which wouldn't be great but might be impetus enough for Cerdic to then surrender the coin.

Or none of those could happen, and Ursiel could decide to try killing me.

Threatening a Fallen with imprisonment wasn't the best way to get one to listen to you, but I was saddled with Lasciel's reputation as an unreliable ally, a rebel-among-rebels. Ursiel wouldn't buy a deal that looked too good to be true.

The trouble was, I also needed to get the drop on Ursiel, and I couldn't be sure of the way Cerdic would go. With how stacked the situation was against me, I couldn't afford to have him and Ursiel align.

Cerdic's nails started drawing blood, and he was glaring at me hatefully. I stared back, impassive, careful not to meet his eyes. I wasn't sure which way that would go. I figured he'd see enough in me to realize my deception. Whether that would prompt him to abandon the coin though, or to attack me, I didn't know.

And, shamefully, some small part of me was hoping Cerdic chose Ursiel here. Because at least then, I could keep the details contained, away from John and Robert and all the rest.

I needed to make the call: could I pivot, make a heartfelt plea, and get Cerdic to give up Ursiel? Or did I assume he was too far gone, and try to kill him? I had one shot at this, one opportunity. And if I didn't get my point across in the first few seconds, then Ursiel would realize he had been duped and start editing Cerdic's senses. Then I was really done.

But as I looked at Cerdic, I thought of Michael. Of the way he would react to seeing me jump to assassination. The simple, quiet resignation, maybe even some disappointment.

I suppressed a sigh. Cerdic hadn't killed anyone so far, that I knew of at least. He wasn't completely gone. He deserved a chance.

"Or option three," I said, drawing the full attention of both Cerdic and Ursiel. "Cerdic, you surrender Ursiel and come back." I let the illusory eyes and mist fade, and spoke faster for the last stretch. "Realize that it was all a lie and that you still have a chance."

Ursiel's eyes widened, but it was Cerdic's expression I focused on. The brief look of confusion, bewilderment. For a moment, I thought he'd make the right choice.

Then his expression twisted with fury. I don't know if Ursiel got to him, or if he just felt angry, or what. But I couldn't take the chance.

I drummed my fingers against my staff and a heartbeat later, there was a blur from behind Cerdic. Some instinct alerted him that something was off, and he whirled around in confusion, raising an arm in surprise.

Then his arm was gone, flying off into the courtyard, and a sword was thrust in Cerdic's face. When it hit the edge of his nose, it cut through flesh. When it started to hit his eye, it cut through fur.

An ursine roar of pain split the air as Cerdic ballooned in size, his remaining limbs turning into massive bear legs, another pair growing out of his torso, curling ram horns sprouting from behind his ears. He reared back on two legs and swiped at the indistinct figure in front of him, missing by a foot as the blur leapt back, bloody sword in hand.

Plan A, get Cerdic to drop the coin, had fallen through. Plan B, kill Cerdic before Ursiel came out, had also fallen through. That left Plan C:

Kill Ursiel right away, before he could start blocking magic.

Even though my staff was not the best focus for this, I thrust it forward and yelled, "_Pyrofuego!_"

* * *

Author's Note: You can expect a lot of questions for Harry once this is over.


	46. Chapter 3-XX

**December 1069**

I realized too late I should've used the method Lash had taught me to block out pain, because the act of forcing out a bar of fire through a wounded arm and a focus not meant for it made my hand and staff wobble. And so, rather than blowing Ursiel's head clean off, I instead burned a hole through its shoulder, the one that led to its left front arm, the one that was still whole. For the moment.

I also, just maybe, shouldn't have included soulfire in the mix. But hey, hindsight is twenty-twenty.

My spell severed Ursiel's arm at the shoulder, and the massive demon-bear turned and landed on its middle pair of paws, its maw sprouting a second set of serrated teeth behind the first.

And then Ursiel roared. Not like a bear, but like a man enraged. "Deceiver! Thief! You dare to taint the fires of creation with your mortal soul?!"

"Heard that before," I muttered. Then I took off running like Wile E. Coyote. And I say him rather than Road Runner because ultimately, I didn't get away.

Ursiel charged at me, roaring and screaming, and ran right into a hail of sharpened spikes fashioned from the ruined walls of the castle. Some dug six or so inches into Ursiel's flank and back, some hit the ground in front of him. None of them bothered or impeded him.

The ground in front of him changed into a liquid, muddy slurry that swallowed its paws and then reverted back into frozen dirt and earth. It bought fractions of a second as Ursiel was forced to repeatedly tear its feet out of the ground.

Someone stabbed Ursiel in the back with a bloody sword. It didn't even look back. Was Cerdic even in there anymore? Or had the pain and maiming been enough to let Ursiel seize complete control?

Academic questions in that moment, really.

I tipped my staff over my shoulder and fired off a half-hearted, soulfire boosted "_Forzare!_" and wasn't remotely surprised when it splashed against Ursiel's head and barely even nudged it. Then I judged the distance between us, my surroundings, and made the snap decision to throw my staff off to the side.

Didn't need it breaking against me, and-or hurting me, when Ursiel mauled me.

I stopped, stepped to the side so that Ursiel's strike wouldn't throw me into a wall, and threw up my strongest shield. And braced.

I'd been intending Ursiel to have to turn and bat me with its left side, throwing me further into the courtyard. Instead, its middle right arm bent in ways that shouldn't have been possible and blindsided me, slamming against the edge of my shield with enough force to shake my teeth and send me hurtling to the ground. Its middle left paw then broke through my shield, flipped me around roughly, and then slammed down on my chest, hard.

My duster was the only thing that saved me from being crushed. As it was, I think it still cracked a few ribs, and definitely drove the air right out of me.

"How did you steal it?" Ursiel hissed in my face, drool dripping over my face. "Who did you slaughter and defile to seize it?"

I couldn't even croak helplessly, almost drowning in drool and water as snow and ice started to flash-melt around me from my raging aura.

I felt something slam against Ursiel's side from the way its paw ground into me, and through drool drenched eyes I dimly saw a length of wood punch right through Ursiel's maw and knock out a few teeth. It reared back, narrowly avoiding a number of wooden spears that might have taken it in the brain, and snapped the one that had taken it in the mouth in two.

Then it sunk slightly and something hooked around my shoulders, pulling me back. I was dragged for all of eight feet before a hand roughly grasped my back collar and hauled me up and over a shoulder.

"Second time, wizard," Lucille hissed.

"T… turn," I wheezed as Lucille started running away, fumbling around with my coat pockets.

"I need some distance first."

"T-turn!" I forced out, grabbing my baseball and roughly hauling it out.

Lucille snarled and pivoted like a ballet dancer, turning me around so that I faced Ursiel who was, surprise surprise, charging my way, maw open and snarling.

Which was convenient for me, good even.

Not trusting my ability to speak or even breathe right then, I opened my hand and pointed my palm in Ursiel's direction, and before the baseball could really start rolling off I forced out a silent kinetic burst. Silent evocation was dangerous, I wasn't accomplished enough to pull it off consistently or without risk, but now was not the time to hesitate, even if it set off a whole Fourth of July's worth of fireworks off in my head.

The baseball shot off like a cannonball. It flew at a slight angle and not in the best direction, and so rather than braining Ursiel or tearing through it's gullet, I hit the bear in the back of its maw, tore through its jaw, out the back, and punched into its flank.

That stopped Ursiel and drew out a bellow of pain that only got louder as a transfigured length of iron slammed into its side and sent it stumbling, followed by a lightning quick cut at a joint from a figure I still couldn't make out.

Now Ursiel, like Magog, was a brute, a thug. They liked to smash and destroy and revel in violence. But I figured there was a reason Magog followed Tessa, and Ursiel followed Nicodemus:

Namely, Ursiel was the worst _kind_ of thug. The smart kind.

Ursiel's orange eyes whipped around to take us all in, and then rather than take its chances against us, decided we weren't worth fighting any longer. Instead it picked itself up, slammed its bulk against the outer wall, and broke it apart. Then it turned and loped off, in the direction of the river and York Castle.

"Fuck," I managed.

There was a brief, tense pause as everyone took a moment to process and breathe, and then Lucille shucked me off and got me to my feet. Helga and Rowena came down off the walls, walking in my direction, while the indistinct figure also started walking towards me, bloody sword in hand. I ignored him right up until he walked up to me, looked me over, and slugged me in the side.

"Ow!" he said, pulling his hand back and shaking it.

Helga and Rowena snapped their wands up, but I shakily raised my hand and shook my head. Tim, who I could now properly recognize and acknowledge, looked back at me. I'd given him my blending potion for that little extra edge against Ursiel, and had, as a contingency, allowed him one punch to break the effect on me in case it was necessary. Though, he didn't really stop to check before slugging me. "What is your coat made of?"

I wheezed and tried to speak, and realized that I wasn't getting more than a single syllable out at a time, and even then with some pain. I winced, closed my eyes, and blocked out the pain as quickly as I could. It wasn't safe, but I needed to operate at as close to full capacity right now as I could.

The pain vanished, and I almost let out a sigh of relief. The only reason I didn't was because it would have exacerbated my condition.

Tim looked like he wanted to punch me again, and I slowly held up a single finger. He looked at it, sighed, and nodded.

"What now?" he asked.

If it had been painful to breathe and grunt, then speaking was right out. Which was really bad, because I needed to figure out a response. I spent a few seconds wracking my brain for an answer, then remembered the first time I had used soulfire. It had been unconscious, and unintentional, but I might be able to repurpose it for a different purpose.

I ran magic and soulfire through my body, specifically my throat, and then drew it out. "I'm not sure," I said without moving my lips.

My tone of voice was flat and monotone, but for a first try the vocal construct was serving its purpose: letting me speak.

"Helga, you can fly. Ursiel needs to cross the river, it won't be fast about it. Get to the castle, warn Malfoy, and start organizing some kind of response," I said.

Helga looked at me with a mixture of fear and worry, and it hurt. But I couldn't worry about it right then.

"Go!"

Helga turned and shrank into a barn owl before flying off after Ursiel.

"As for us, I don't know," I said. "Timothy, can you beat Ursiel across the river?"

"And have anything left to fight with, and not devour a few maidens along the way?" He shook his head.

"Shit," I said. "Rowena, my staff."

She nodded, waved her hand and muttered something that sounded vaguely Polish under her breath, and my staff flew towards me. I barely managed to grasp it, and it barely helped me stay up.

"Can you not curse the demon, or the man?" Tim asked.

I looked at him, and he gestured towards Cerdic's severed arms with his sword. His bloody sword.

"Maybe," I said. "Assuming Ursiel isn't blocking magic at the moment. And that we weren't murdering a man with magic."

"What does that matter?" he asked.

"Killing a person with magic taints and twists the mind and soul of the murderer," Rowena said. "It's inherently vile."

"He's a demon right now," Tim pointed out. "Surely if there is any time when murder is appropriate it is now."

"No," Lucille said, drawing looks from everyone including me. "The wizard's mad enough as it is. Making him evil on top of it is a bad idea."

If I could have laughed, I would have.

Tim gave Lucille a strange look, then shrugged. "Then what else is there?"

"Could we try and assault Cerdic's mind?" Rowena asked. "Or curse him more moderately?"

"Ursiel is running mental defense for Cerdic, you wouldn't be able to do anything. But…" A thought came to me. "Do you know lightning magic?"

"Some. Rarely practiced," Rowena said.

"It'll have to do. Timothy, grab the arms, bring them over here. Lucille, put me down, carefully. Rowena, start making a circle around us, we're going to need it."

Lucille carefully set me down on the frozen ground, while Rowena pulled a wooden spear towards her before taking it in her free hand, walking in a circle and dragging the sharpened point along the ground. Tim came back a few moments later with two bloody arms in hand, tossing them down on the ground in front of me.

"The brain controls the body through electrical impulses carried along the nerves," I said. "Basically, tiny amounts of lightning carried back and forth."

"Really?" Tim asked, and even Rowena looked at me curiously.

"Yes. Now, we'd need to put a lot of power into a curse to make it hurt, and then Ursiel could block and diminish the effects. But the demon isn't naturally immune to magic, it has to actively defend against it. That implies there's some kind of cost to it. So we need to hit Cerdic for maximum effect with minimum effort. Continuously bombarding him with small amounts of electricity to force his body to thrash and misbehave is the best way to go about it. Ursiel will have to maintain its block constantly, which will hopefully exhaust it. Hopefully. Tim, stab your sword through the right hand and leave it there."

Tim stepped forward in front of Rowena, who was most of the way done with the circle, and drove his sword through the hand of Cerdic's severed right arm hard enough to pin the sword and hand to the ground. Then he stepped back. I awkwardly dug out the copy of Ursiel's coin from my pocket, then leaned forward and shoved it into Cerdic's left hand, curling his cold, dead fingers around it.

"I'll establish and maintain the link as long as I can," I said. "Rowena, you do the lightning."

Rowena nodded, finished the circle, and threw the spear aside. Then she stepped inside, brought up the circle, and touched her wand to the hilt of Tim's sword. I grabbed Cerdic's right arm with my left and his left with my right, and took as deep a breath as felt safe. I pictured Cerdic, inside the ursine form of Ursiel, and assembled a mental jigsaw, putting his arms back on his body, reconnecting the nerves, imagining the impulses flowing up to his brain and back down his body.

"Now," I said.

Rowena channeled a small amount of lightning through Tim's sword and into Cerdic's arm, and I pulled that lightning into myself and pushed it into Cerdic's left arm, adding a tiny bit of soulfire along the way to give it that extra kick. I figured that once all was said and done I'd be low on capacity, but I had enough sense of my own limits to avoid actually burning myself out.

The lightning flowed through Cerdic's severed arm and vanished rather than grounding itself, and I felt a connection spark and sputter and flicker. I let a little of the pain return, enough so I could properly gauge if I was going too far. I regretted it immediately.

Rowena and I settled into a steady if uncomfortable rhythm, shocking Cerdic again and again and again, once every second or two. We kept this up for what felt like an hour to me, but was probably closer to four or five minutes. Right at the end, just as I felt I couldn't maintain the link any longer, Cerdic's left arm started to blacken and wither and weep. I snatched my hand back immediately and Rowena cut off the lightning, and we watched in morbid fascination as Cerdic's arm twitched and spasmed and rotted. A few seconds later, it fell still and silent.

"What was that?" Lucille asked.

Rowena cocked her head. "It looked like Cerdic was violently and magically poisoned, and died as a result."

Poisoned. Or envenomed.

"That's good, yes?" Tim asked.

"Hopefully," I said, cutting back on my vocal construct. I'd overdone it at this point, and it had left me temporarily mute just like my arm had gone numb the first time I used soulfire. But I judged it worthwhile.

I broke the circle, tried to speak, and failed utterly. I didn't even make a sound. I sighed, motioned for someone to pick me up, and then pointed in the direction of the river and the castle. It took a bit for me to get my point across, but after a little bit of charades we started off towards York Castle, Tim supporting me along the way. It took us almost half an hour to reach York Castle, and that was with Tim doing the bulk of the walking for me.

When we reached the base of the motte, it was eerily silent. Tim and Lucille looked at each other, and Tim shrugged. "There's no good way to explain your presence here," he said.

She nodded. "I'll wait. Your eyes are silver though."

"Are they? Bother." He looked at Rowena. "Can you walk him?"

Rowena slung one of my arms over her shoulder and winced at the weight, but didn't drop me. Tim nodded and let go of my other side.

"I'll be just outside, by the doors," Tim said. "In case there's still a problem."

I nodded.

We trekked up the motte, past the unguarded, broken front doors of the castle, through the entryway and pseudo-foyer, and into the main hall of the castle.

It was dead silent, except for the snoring. Dozens of men and a few women were slumped over on tables or laid out on the ground, conked out and sleeping. The only three people that were up were a jumpy Malfoy, a wary Helga, and an almost snake-like Salazar.

Rowena asked the question we both had: "What happened here?"

Helga looked around at Malfoy and Salazar, swallowed, and sighed. "I got back here a minute or two ahead of Ursiel. Malfoy and I put up defenses, and they held for a few seconds. It was spasming as it came in, and we were getting ready to fight it." She waved at all the sleeping men. "Then Salazar came in. He plunged the entire room into darkness until the only thing we could see were the demon's glowing eyes, and then…" She sucked in a deep breath. "The screaming started."

I arched an eyebrow.

"That went on for… a bit, and then everything went silent. Then Salazar dropped the darkness. I found that everyone was asleep, and the demon was gone." She turned and looked at Salazar, almost accusing him with her eyes. "He still hasn't told me what he did."

Well, I could guess. And on the whole, I guess it's pretty metal.

Basilisk one, Ursiel zero.


	47. Harry I

**Actual POV  
**  
People started waking up shortly after, looking around in confusion. I didn't stick around to see what happened, just long enough to track down Ursiel's coin and find that it wasn't in the castle. Or the city. That prompted me to get Rowena to lead me to Salazar, where I engaged in a set of coin-related charades with him.

He didn't really elaborate, but he did give me his word, on his power, that it was secure and safe and no one had taken it up. Given the way he was entirely serious about it, I assumed he'd run into Denarians before.

My guess was, judging by the lack of corpse, that the basilisk had eaten Cerdic. And from the way I couldn't detect it or see the basilisk, it was currently in the Nevernever.

I considered going further, interrogating Salazar more, but I was just so tired. Moreover, in our current state, if Salazar wanted to do something hellishly evil there was absolutely nothing I or anyone else could do to stop him. I just had to trust this was another arranged coincidence on Uriel's part and that Ursiel wasn't a problem.

So instead, I had Rowena help me to an empty bedroom. Once there, I closed and magically locked the door, and just managed to take off my duster before falling prone on the bed. I felt like a herd of horses had trampled all over me, followed by a tractor, and even though I was blocking out much of the pain my body screamed for rest. But I didn't go to sleep just yet. There was still something I needed to do.

Maybe it wasn't the best idea to call him now. Or at all. But damn it, I wanted answers. And after tonight, I was tired of keeping the questions back.

I closed my eyes, steadied my breathing, and pictured a room in my mind. My laboratory. An ornate summoning circle cut into the wooden floor, candles lit at five equidistant points around it. The air smelled of sandalwood incense and burned wax. I didn't put much more effort into it than that. In my current state, there was no way I would be able to power a circle for more than a second if the being I called up decided he wanted out.

I imagined myself kneeling beside the circle. I closed it. I gathered the power. Then, in the faintest whisper, my voice barely working even in my mind, I called quietly, "Uriel, come forth."

There was no flash of light, no crack of thunder, no chorus of angels. One moment, the circle was empty. The next, a man was inside. He was tall and young, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and a farmer's duck coat. His blond hair fell over his eyes, but they were blue and bright and guileless as he looked around the room. He stuck his hands into his coat pockets and nodded slowly. "I was wondering when I'd get this call."

I squinted at him. "Are you deliberately repeating yourself?"

"Hmm?"

"The last time I summoned you like this, before... you know, you looked the exact same down to the clothes, said the exact same thing," I said, suspicious.

"Ah. Well, it just seemed appropriate," Uriel said.

I stared at him, wondering what Uriel's game was. "Are you the same?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," he said. "I'm afraid I can't tell you."

"Why?" I demanded. "Can't I get some damn answers?"

"You can," he replied. "But not to that question. As you yourself wrote, you died. You went on to your judgment. And yet, here you are." Uriel waved a hand. "It is not for me to question His will."

I took a deep breath and clenched my hand.

"But I will elaborate as much as I am able. Consider the two possibilities: that I am the same Uriel, or that I am different, or an earlier one than you are used to."

"That's three," I said.

"The latter two are equivalent in this instance," he dismissed. "In the latter case, I don't know what happened to you, or why. I do not have the answers you seek. In the former case, you are familiar to me, and I do know what happened to you. But either way, regardless of the truth, I cannot tell you."

"But why?" I insisted. "Why do you have to leave me in suspense?"

"In the latter case, I must assume that your ignorance is the result of some deliberate action or choice, and that it is not my place to inform you of even that much. In the former case, your ignorance is part of what has been decreed. Your trial. Your judgment."

I was silent for a few moments. "You're suggesting this is the afterlife?"

"Isn't it, in some senses? You died, thus it is after your life," Uriel said. "Perhaps this is what the afterlife is, past all the pretty words and imagery: a dream. Or perhaps these are the last gasps of a hallucinating, oxygen-deprived mind as your real body drowns."

"Why would I dream or hallucinate this?" I asked. "Something so far out of my past, so far out of my experience, so… bizarre, wrong."

Uriel shrugged.

I sighed and looked away in anger. "Fine. You can't tell me. Whatever. Can you answer the rest of my questions?"

"Perhaps. Some, certainly," he said.

I took a deep breath and unclenched my hands. "My voice. Will it come back?"

"In a few days, yes. You strained that part of yourself by haphazardly channeling magic and soulfire through it, but you did not cause any permanent damage. I would not recommend trying to speak during your recovery however, some of the trauma is physical as well as spiritual and will be exacerbated."

I sighed and nodded. "Okay. Good. Now, why me, for this? For Cerdic?"

Uriel arched an eyebrow. "Were you not the right man for the job?"

"You had most of a month," I said. "You could have gotten a Knight here in at least a dozen different ways. He could have made a better attempt at pulling Cerdic back, could have worked with the people already here to contain Ursiel, could've done better than me."

"I did not force you to come here. And the Knights cannot be everywhere at every time."

"Then what was the book?" I asked. "Sheer, random coincidence?"

Uriel smiled faintly. "Yes. Now as to your suitability, consider what actually happened. No one perished. Cerdic was provided a chance at redemption, the best that could be managed under the circumstances. Chaos and war was prevented. Power and valor was demonstrated. Strife between siblings reduced."

"And now the Leanansidhe is pissed at me," I said.

"Again, a choice you made. I did not force you to attack her. You could have negotiated a withdrawal, a passage."

"Really?" I asked skeptically. "Seemed to me like she was only interested in an ultimatum. Come with her of my own free will, or have her drag me off and suffer in the process."

"Despite the role you imagine for me, Harry, I am not in the habit of lying or exaggerating," he said. "You had options. You chose not to exercise them."

"I'm not omniscient," I said with a snort.

"Neither am I," he replied. "But I look upon events with a measured, calm view. It provides me a wider perspective. You could benefit from such an approach."

"Easy for you to say," I muttered. I took a deep breath. "Lasciel. Is she aware of me?"

"That touches on the reasons why I could not tell you what I may or may not know."

"Touches on," I noted.

Uriel nodded. "Yes. And different reasons as well. I cannot tell you, Harry. It approaches imbalance, sharing information about the Fallen. The most I can do, the most I can recommend, is to carefully consider your memories. Perhaps you will find your answer there. Perhaps not."

"And in the meantime, suffer through a bunch of headaches, and maybe an aneurysm."

"That too would be your choice."

I sighed.

"Now, if you have any other worldly questions, I would ask that you not waste time for the both of us by asking them. I wouldn't be able to answer."

"Like what the hell that city in the Ways was?" I asked.

Uriel nodded.

"Alright." I shifted around, wondering what to ask. I worked my way through the simple questions, the ones that didn't really matter, until I got to the one I had really been dreading.

"Do you still owe me seven words?"

"You misunderstand. _I_ do not owe you seven words," Uriel said. "You were manipulated. And before you take that as a sign that I am your Uriel, allow me to say that the imbalance is etched upon your very soul, an intervention so grave I could not miss it even were I to lack my full faculties. You are owed seven words to correct that imbalance. I need not be the one to say them."

"But… that's what you do. So the answer is yes."

Uriel sighed. "If you wish to put it so simply."

"Me big thug. Me need simple words."

Uriel snorted in a very human way. "Is that all?" he asked.

I thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. That's it."

"Then allow me to provide you some parting advice. A broadening of perspective, as it were," Uriel said. "You think that your current life is a punishment. That you were whisked away from everything and everyone you ever knew and loved, and forced to suffer in isolation."

"Kind of hard not to think that, considering everything that's happened," I replied, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.

"Perhaps. But while Heaven and Hell are real places, they are also states of mind. Perhaps the punishment is only in your head. Perhaps this is a second chance, with opportunities for new friends, new relationships, new happiness."

"And all the pain and fighting? All the shittiness?" I asked.

"Would you truly be satisfied with an eternity of peace? Or do you _need _to act, to help? Do you need to learn how to let go?"

I didn't have a response to that.

"Good night, Harry Dresden." Uriel vanished from the circle, leaving me alone in my own mind. I stayed there for a bit, considering what Uriel had said. After a few minutes, I decided I was too damn tired.

I stopped holding back the pain, and let it drag me down into darkness and slumber.

* * *

Author's Note: As the title might suggest, this is from Harry's actual POV. It's also not included in his journals, and so is numbered differently.


	48. Chapter 4-I

**December 1069**

Come morning, it looked like most of the people in the main hall had written off the bear, the darkness, and the screams as the product of one giant alcoholic bender. The only ones that were aware that hadn't happened and that a giant demon-bear had actually attacked were us, that is the wizards and witches and vampires, and separately from us, Robert and his brother.

Shortly after I'd woken up, and before I could have breakfast, Helga had dragged me, Salazar, and Rowena into a side room, locked the door, warded the room, and sat us all down for an explanation as to what the hell had happened last night.

Being voiceless, I had to borrow parchment and quill from Rowena.

"Now, again, Salazar, what did you do?" Helga insisted.

"I handled Ursiel," he replied. "His host is dead and his coin is secure."

"But how did you do that?" she pressed.

I scratched something out on parchment and then passed it to Rowena to read. She glanced at it, blinked, then read it over two more times before clearing her throat.

"My guess is he had his basilisk eat Ursiel," Rowena quoted. "Though I want to know where the coin is."

Helga and Salazar both turned to look at me, the former in bewilderment, the latter in surprise and annoyance.

"Why do you think I have a basilisk?" Salazar asked.

I scratched out another chicken scratch response and passed it to Rowena.

"Oh, please, that's twice now you've gotten everyone to break eye contact before doing something basilisk-y. Freezing the draugr and killing Ursiel, then getting rid of its corpse," Rowena quoted. "Though something doesn't add up to me. How did your basilisk freeze the draugr, yet eat Ursiel? Shouldn't it have eaten both, or frozen both?"

Salazar sighed, rubbed his temple, and glared at me. "How do you think I could have used a basilisk against the draugr?"

Another response, this time accompanied by a snort from Rowena before she quoted me. "I just assumed you pulled it out of your robe and thrust it towards the draugr like a tiny noodly wand."

Helga's eyes bulged and she let out a half-choked giggle, while Salazar's glare just intensified.

I scratched out another response. "Okay, so not that. But I'm right about Ursiel. And I still want to know about the coin, and how you know about the Denarians."

Salazar continued glaring at me for a good ten, twelve seconds before he finally sighed and looked away. "Sixty years ago, give or take a year or so, I was caught up in a Denarian plot and encountered one of the Knights of the Cross. The resulting… mess prompted me to look into both groups, and learn of the White Council's history with them."

Some more scratching. "Which is?"

"Centuries ago, there was a prolonged series of conflicts, not quite a war, between the Order and the Council. Neither side truly won, and the Order has, I think, since preferred to avoid drawing the full attention of the Council," Salazar replied. "Individually, Denarians are dangerous. Collectively, they are a force to be reckoned with. But in terms of numbers, experience, and ultimate collective power, it seems the Council can beat them, if that power can be brought to bear."

I nodded, and wrote another response. "The basilisk, question mark question mark question mark?" Rowena quoted.

Salazar let out a deep, aggrieved sigh. "Fine. Yes, I have a full-grown basilisk. I brought him with me when I heard about Ursiel. He killed and ate the demon. I pulled the coin out of his stomach last night and it's currently sitting in a triply-layered warded box for delivery to the Vatican as soon as I can manage it. I did not touch, bond with, or otherwise contact Ursiel. Are you satisfied?"

I nodded. Helga, though, didn't seem satisfied by that response.

"You have a basilisk," she said slowly. "A full-grown basilisk. And this is the first I'm hearing of it." She took a deep breath. "Why?!"

"Because of precisely this response," Salazar replied. "And it really wasn't any of your business."

"You have one of the most dangerous, venomous, and hard to control magical beasts in the entire world as a _pet_!" Helga cried.

"As a familiar," Salazar corrected.

Helga just stopped and stared at him.

"And I do not employ him lightly," Salazar continued. "In fact, yesterday was the first time I have truly used him. Before then, I have only ever used him to travel through the Nevernever. You'd be surprised at how much safer it is to navigate Faerie atop a basilisk."

Helga let out this choked, half-formed cry.

Rowena took my latest note. "So how did you pin the draugr?"

Salazar sighed and gave me a withering look. "I have been experimenting with shapeshifting to assume some of the characteristics of a basilisk. Like its gaze. So far, I haven't progressed past a degree of petrification."

"Okay, okay, just stop!" Helga yelled. "Harry here apparently knows how to convincingly fake being a damned Fallen and you have a basilisk for a familiar." She turned to look at Rowena, wide-eyed. "Do you have some deep dark secret I'm not aware of?"

Rowena blinked. "No."

Salazar, meanwhile, had fixed me with a very firm stare. "What was that about a Fallen?" he asked calmly.

I sighed, and wrote out my next response as carefully as possible. "I have personal knowledge of the Order and the Knights of the Cross, and had both a Knight of the Cross and a former Denarian explain a number of things to me in great detail." She frowned. "I don't think I'm supposed to say this next part."

I nodded, pulled off my left glove, and slid my hand in front of Salazar.

"Oh, that makes sense. Ahem. 'You can confirm I'm not a Denarian if you want'," Rowena continued.

Salazar glanced at my hand only briefly before looking back at me. His eyes took on an… indescribable not-hue, and I assumed he was looking at me with the Sight. He stared at me like that for a little while, before closing his eyes and sighing.

"You are not," he allowed.

I put my glove back on.

At the same time, Helga sighed, put her face in her hands, and took a number of slow, deep breaths. "I… ugh." She sighed again, slid her hands off her face, and looked at me. "Harry, I know you said you were lying, but… what you said to Ursiel, about the king, about the earl, about Hogwarts… it didn't sound like a lie. It sounded terrifying."

"What did he say?" Salazar asked.

"How he could use his position as an advisor close to King William to convince him to allow for the founding of Hogwarts, from where a hypothetical Denarian could greatly influence the development and education of English practitioners," Rowena summarized.

Salazar furrowed his brow and looked at Helga. "What about that is concerning?"

"It made it sound like we're… going to be telling people how to think, making our own personal cult," she replied.

Salazar frowned. "And you… haven't considered this?"

Helga blinked, and Salazar sighed. "I sometimes forget how young you are. Helga, your plan, as you proposed it, is to take in everyone with magical potential, bring them together in one central location, and educate and guide them about magic. By its very nature, the school will be a place where we propagate our ideals and beliefs. The Senior Council probably sees the project as having the potential of forming a rival organization to the White Council. Have you truly not realized this, not tried to address this in negotiations?"

Helga didn't have a response to that.

I wrote some more and passed it to Rowena. "People don't see intentions. They often just see the worst case scenario."

Helga let out a long, despairing sigh and set her head down against the table. "That's… that's just…" She took a deep breath and looked at all of us. "Is it just inevitable that wizards go insane with age? See monsters in every shadow?"

"It's a valuable survival trait," Salazar replied.

I frowned at Helga's question, and penned a response. "How old do you think I am?" Rowena asked for me.

Helga blinked and looked at me. "Uhm. A hundred years old, give or take ten in either direction?"

That made me blink and quickly count out the years in my head. In turn, my written response made Rowena blink and stare at me. "Really?" she asked.

I nodded.

"What?" Helga asked.

"He's thirty-nine," she said.

Everyone in the room turned to look at me. I made a "what?" expression back at them.

I scratched out a quick question and passed it over to Rowena. "How old are all of you?" she asked for me, before looking my way. "Eighty or ninety… something, I stopped counting decades ago."

"A hundred and thirty-two," Salazar replied.

"Thirty-three," Helga said, looking at me. "Thirty-nine? Really?"

I nodded.

"But… you… what? How?"

I scratched out some more. "I've had a very crazy life," Rowena quoted.

Helga sighed, then started looking back and forth between me and Salazar. Then her eyes narrowed. "You're not related, are you?"

"No," Salazar said instantly, and I would have too if my voice had still worked.

"But you look– "

"Pure. Coincidence," Salazar ground out.

"And you're both equally crazy," she added.

We both shook our heads vehemently.

"I can see it," Rowena said idly.

I gave her a look of betrayal.

"Moving the subject back to more practical topics," Rowena said. "I'm interested about something Ursiel said after it started trying to kill you."

I'd been hoping Helga and Rowena would've forgotten about that, honestly.

"Tainting the fires of creation with your mortal soul?" she asked, turning to look at me.

I let out a long sigh, and got out a new scrap of parchment, the old one being completely full now. It took me a minute to figure out what to say, longer to put it down.

"Hmm. Hmm. That's… hmm," Rowena hummed idly, reading over my response. "Ursiel was being annoyed and possessive and envious. Fallen Angels, as a product of their Fall, can wield Hellfire, the fires of destruction, and can grant Hellfire to mortal practitioners to use. Angels, conversely, use soulfire, the fires of creation. And no, I am not an angel. Nor did I kill one for soulfire, like Ursiel thought. I don't even know how someone could even begin to try that. One just gave me soulfire."

Helga was already sat across from me, so she just continued to stare at me. Salazar, meanwhile, slowly turned his head to _look_ at me.

"You had an angel… give you angel-stuff," Helga summarized.

I shrugged.

Helga started sputtering.

Salazar asked the pertinent questions. "How? Why?"

My response was brief. "The circumstances behind that are very personal, and not ones I am willing to share," Rowena quoted.

Helga was still sputtering. Her cycling between "I-", "ju-", "wha-" and so on was pretty amusing to watch.

I took the parchment back, wrote some more, and passed it back to Rowena. She read it over and looked at Salazar. "Can you look after Helga and then handle things with the king, if you haven't already?"

He sighed and glanced at me. "Fine," he said a moment later. "Where are you going?"

"To help Harry sort out how he's getting home. I think."

I nodded, and carefully wrote out a set of instructions regarding who to find – Robert – what to say to him – that I wanted two horses and supplies for the road – and what _not_ to say to him – anything at all about Lucille.

As Helga continued to splutter, Rowena helped me out, took down Helga's wards, and led me out of the room. We got about two dozen feet down a hallway before Rowena blindsided me with a quiet question in Latin.

"You used to be a Denarian, didn't you?"

A dozen different responses flashed through my mind, all of them completely pointless since I couldn't speak. Not that it would've helped, as a second later Rowena stopped and turned her head to look up at me fully.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said.

I gave her a look of confusion. I'd barely had time to process the question, let alone physically react to it.

"I developed some emotional empathy… oh, some time ago, I don't remember when exactly," she said, shaking her head. "Dealing with people before that was always so… difficult." She took a deep breath. "Just now you showed shock, surprise, and disbelief. Not confusion or bewilderment, as I might expect if the question did not land."

I shifted to look at Rowena directly, wincing as my ribs complained in the process.

"I'm not reading your mind," she said quietly. "You're just not hiding your emotions."

I sighed. Then I brought up my hand and waggled it in a maybe.

Rowena glanced at it and frowned thoughtfully. "Somewhat? Maybe? Not really?"

I nodded.

"How does that work?" she asked curiously.

I pointed at my throat, and she nodded. "Yes, right, you can't really explain things right now." She tapped her foot against the floor a few times. "You're not one anymore though."

I shook my head.

"There's no angel in your head, Fallen or otherwise."

I shook my head again.

"Damn," Rowena said. "There goes that theory."

I gave her a long look. I don't know whether she thought I had somehow redeemed a Fallen or one of them had turned back to the light or something or something else entirely.

"But that's how you know so much about the Denarians."

I wobbled my hand again.

She looked at me, then nodded. "Angelic knowledge. That was you speaking from personal experience, wasn't it?"

I nodded slowly, having some inkling where this was going.

"Alright. I'll keep your secret, so long as it doesn't endanger us; it's obviously personal and unpleasant. But in return," she got up on her toes and looked at me, eyes blazing, "I want to know _everything_."

I leaned back from her and slowly nodded.

"Good," she said, settling back down and turning me around. "Now where's this earl of yours?"

It took her five minutes of walking and asking random guards and servants for directions to find Robert. We found him talking with a group of nicely dressed armed men that looked to be his guards or people, judging by how Tim was there. It took Robert a few seconds to spot us, but then Robert excused himself and made his way over to us.

It occurred to me then that Rowena might now know French.

"Harry, thank you. How are you?" Robert asked, his eyes flitting past Rowena as if she was beneath notice. I might've been offended, if I couldn't tell that Rowena was doing that deliberately.

Maybe I should learn that trick, become the stealth wizard ninja. Stealth ninja wizard? Whatever arrangement sounded better.

Cranky Middleaged Ninja Wizard. There.

Back in the moment, Rowena gave me a look that clearly said, "I don't know French."

I gestured to my throat with my free hand and then gestured at Rowena.

"Harry injured his voice last night," Rowena said. "I'm speaking for him right now."

I nodded.

"Ah," Robert said in slower English, giving Rowena another quick look. "Sorry. Now is… not the best time to talk, yes?"

I nodded again.

"When he can speak again, maybe," Rowena replied, figuring out that Robert didn't have the best grasp of English. "He wants your help returning to Berkhamsted."

"Mmm. I must stay with the king, but I can send a few men with you," he replied.

I shook my head, and Rowena said, "Thank you, but that won't be necessary. He just needs two horses and some supplies for the journey."

"Horses and supplies," Robert repeated slowly. "Are you leaving today?"

Rowena glanced at me for a response, and I shrugged. Today or tomorrow didn't really matter to me, and it wasn't like I had anyone to really celebrate Christmas with here in town.

"Then tomorrow morn. I will have things ready," Robert said.

I nodded my thanks to him, waited to see if he would say anything more, and then directed Rowena to take us away. Once we made some distance and were back alone in a hallway again, Rowena turned to look at me.

"Will you be fine, traveling alone with a vampire? One with ties to your earl?"

I nodded.

Rowena sighed. "I hope you know what you're doing."

So did I.

"I suppose you would like to go to your vampire now?" Rowena said in an odd tone.

I eadriced in her general direction.

"She does seem to be used to manhandling you," Rowena went on.

I eadriced harder, and very, very strongly pictured an image of Helga in my head and tried to push it in Rowena's direction. A few seconds later, she sighed.

"I told you I don't read minds," she said.

I arched an eyebrow.

"But yes, Helga suggested those lines. I don't know why," Rowena said with a sigh.

I nudged her lightly, and she got the hint and started walking. We made it out into the courtyard before Rowena stopped and looked at me. "Ah, I almost forgot," she said with rising enthusiasm.

My hackles rose in fearful suspense.

"Name alliteration. I've been thinking of possibilities for months," she said as we started walking again, her grip on my arm tightening.

Oh God please no.

"Now, my first suggestion is very much an unconventional one, but if you married Helga and took her chosen surname–"

No. Stop.

* * *

Author's Note: Rowena _really_ wants her alliteration.


	49. Chapter 4-II

**December 1069  
**  
Lucille was sat in the back corner of the Drunken Hog when we arrived. I felt Rowena's shift her veil as we walked in by the way everyone promptly took one glance at us and looked away, even Lucille only half managing to track our approach.

Then we sat down, and she properly focused on us.

"That's disturbing," she said. Her English wasn't the smoothest, Tim's was better, but it was much better than Robert's.

Rowena didn't respond, instead pulling out some parchment, a quill, and a stoppered container of ink and handing them all to me.

"Harry is getting a pair of horses and some travel supplies from the earl tomorrow," Rowena said clinically, only turning to face Lucille after I'd taken everything she was offering. "I assume you can't show your face before him."

"That would be awkward, yes," Lucille said slowly.

I scratched out an idea and passed it to Rowena. I might've written it in French and passed it to Lucille instead, but I didn't know if she could read. It seemed like something she should be capable of, but maybe her father hadn't pushed literacy that early.

"Harry proposes that you wait for him outside the west gate tomorrow morning so that no one sees you joining him," Rowena paraphrased.

Lucille gave me a look. "You wish for me to wait for you outside the city, in winter?"

I took back the parchment and scrawled a quick response. "Do you have any better ideas?"

"You'll be going to York Castle, yes?" Lucille asked.

I nodded.

"Then I will wait nearby and watch for your entrance, and then head out the west gate. Less waiting and freezing."

I shrugged, then pulled the parchment back and wrote out a question. After finishing, pausing, and thinking, I added another one.

"You're not staying here, then?" Rowena asked for me.

Lucille turned up her nose and looked around the Drunken Hog. "No, I think not. This is a very... Saxon establishment."

Rowena took that in stride. "And second question, how did you cover for your disappearance in Berkhamsted."

Lucille gave another look, different from the last one, same amount of incredulous, more amused. "You ask this now?" She shook her head. "I told some of my... group that I was going to London to shop. It's unexpected, but not entirely uncharacteristic."

Another question. "And when you don't come back with anything?"

Lucille shrugged. "I'm picky."

I nodded, sat back in my chair, and looked over my shoulder at the innkeeper.

"Do you want food? Breakfast?" Rowena asked.

I nodded, dug out a penny, dug out another to be safe, and handed them to Rowena.

"Any preferences?"

I wrote down "FOOD" on the parchment. Then "the lightest beer they had" a moment later.

Rowena looked the parchment over, nodded, and headed off to talk with the innkeep. I turned to look at Lucille, glanced down at the parchment, and scrawled something out in French before passing the parchment over to her.

She looked it over, skipping past the English. "Yes, I can read and write," she said. She passed the parchment back and looked up at me. "What happened to your voice?"

I wrote down "strained it doing magic, will take a few days to come back" in French and passed it over. Lucille read it over and got a strange look in her eyes.

"So what you are saying is that for the next few days, I have to speak for you?" she asked innocently.

I gave her the classic Eadric look.

Lucille gave me an innocent smile and stood up. "I'll be leaving now. Until tomorrow."

I held up a hand for her to pause, then scrawled out a quick, "Thank you."

She read over the parchment, looked up at me, and nodded. Then she left the inn.

Rowena came back a minute later with a tankard of ale that I got three sips out of before it grew warm, and a couple of minutes later the innkeep came by with breakfast: bread and some hastily slapped together meat. Because breakfast wasn't really a thing these days.

Honestly, I'd completely overlooked that detail, preparing all my own meals as I did.

Rowena passed me the change and then dug out her room key and slid it over to me. I paused in my consumption of the bread to look at her.

"I'm going to meet with Helga. Assuming nothing new comes up, I'll be leaving for my tower. I don't need the room anymore, and it's paid for the night." She paused. "I just need to grab my things first."

I snorted and nodded. Rowena gave me a quick look, then went up the stairs. I was mostly done with the bread and tentatively setting into the meat with just a knife when she came back down, rucksack over her shoulder. She looked at me, I looked at her, I nodded, she nodded, and she left.

The rest of breakfast reminded me of why I reintroduced forks into my cutlery set as soon as I could: eating meat with gloved fingers is incredibly awkward. And messy. I should just start carrying forks around.

Once I was done with breakfast I stuffed parchment, quill, and re-stoppered ink bottle into one pocket, palmed the room key, and returned the tankard and plate to the innkeep. Then I went upstairs to Rowena's former room, sat down on the bed, and let out a muted sigh of relief.

Part of me, a large part of me, wanted to just sleep most of the day away. The brief sprint through the Nevernever, followed by all of yesterday, had left me exhausted and burned through a good chunk of my soul. Not enough to really be concerned, but I could still feel the kind of faint and ephemeral yet bone-deep weariness and numbness that came with extensive soulfire usage.

And my vocal chords still weren't working, so there was that.

But my encounter with the Leanansidhe stuck in my head. I didn't feel... completely bad about it, I had needed to get away from her, but in retrospect it was possible, just possible, that I could have handled that better, and not made an enemy out of one of the most powerful beings in Faerie. The trouble was, I had, by shooting iron through her leg without having any kind of prior consideration like being her godson. Fixing that wasn't going to be easy.

But hey, it's Christmas. Maybe a miracle will happen.

I set my own rucksack down on the floor, got out of my duster, dusted off my tunic and hose, and got in bed. Then I closed my eyes, steadied my breathing, and began to picture a room in my mind. My laboratory.

Specifically, my old laboratory.

I sketched out the shape first, the cold stone walls and floor, the texture and feel of them. Then my various shelves and tables, filled with the accumulated minutia of two decades as a wizard, books and potion components and sacks and containers of various kinds - the Tupperware blurred together a little, but the sack made from the genitals of a lion stood out in my mind clearly - all laid out in accordance with my own haphazard organizational scheme. I thought of the shelf reserved for Bob, his carved and runed skull sitting amidst a bunch of tawdry romance novels and too-expensive bodice rippers. The long work table in the center, and the model of my old city that I'd built into it. Little Chicago started to take form and shape, but after some thought I reluctantly let it fade and vanish. The rest of the room could be excused and overlooked. Little Chicago really couldn't.

Finally, I moved on to the final, improved version of my old summoning circle, the braided hoop of svartalf-made copper, silver, and iron, each strand engraved with incredibly tiny and precise symbols. I imagined the flickers of light that slithered around each strand of metal, red and blue and green dancing and intertwining in continuous spirals.

I added the unlit candles, five at equidistant points forming a pentacle just like the one in my amulet. I added the smells, sandalwood incense and burned wax, and the temperature, the cold of my basement laboratory. Lastly I lit the candles one by one, walking slowly around the circle in a clockwise fashion - deosil, as the Celts and fairy tales call it - gradually building up the energy I needed in the process.

It was a painfully complex mental construct, but for the being I was about to call up, I really needed the big guns.

Once I finished lighting the candles, I imagined myself sitting down, the floor digging unpleasantly into my knees, and closed the circle. I gathered the power. Then, after a brief pause to give myself one last chance to back out, I took a deep breath and called.

"Leanansidhe. An it please thee, come hither and hold discourse with me."

I sent out my will, my magic coursing into the words, and waited for a response.

It came quickly. The demented lovechild of a blizzard and a hailstorm that itself had a kid with a laser light show slammed into the circle, rattling the teeth in my skull and setting all my hairs on end. I poured my will and power into the circle, focusing on the iron winding through the floor. I didn't know if the Leanansidhe could see through the storm but wasn't willing to risk it, so I kept the soulfire back for the moment. My mental image started rattling and shaking like it was coming apart, and I spared a little focus to shore up the state of the laboratory, fighting against the shaking.

I came close, damn close, to adding in soulfire. But just before I reached the point I'd set for myself, the line, the storm stopped. The hail dropped, the snow fell, and the light faded, and in their place stood the Leanansidhe in her dress, the emerald fabric heavily covering up her left leg.

She was smiling, her lips peeled back to expose her neatly pointed canine teeth, and her green catlike eyes bore into mine for a fraction of a second before I glanced away.

"Wizard. You must be very foolish indeed to summon me after how you wounded me," she said, her voice sickly sweet.

"And yet, you're talking to me," I said quietly, a night of decent sleep having fixed up the spiritual side of my voice enough that I could use it in my mind.

"So I am," she allowed, pressing a hand up against the edge of the circle. Lightning started to crackle and writhe against her palm as she did. "For now."

I got the subtext. Fortunately, I was sure I could keep her talking.

"How would you like to make a deal?" I asked.

* * *

Author's Note: I was expecting all this setup to be shorter, but it sprawled out.


	50. Chapter 4-III

**December 1069**

The Leanansidhe paused and looked at me. "A deal," she said slowly.

"Three questions regarding my history," I continued.

Her expression and posture somehow grew even more still. "With what conditions, wizard?" she asked.

"A few," I replied. "Do you want to hear me out, or do you want to try the circle again? I wouldn't recommend the latter, since if you haven't felt it already there's iron in there."

"Not true iron," she said. "Simply the product of your mind."

"Still hurts."

She inclined her head slightly and pulled her hand back, the lightning fading. "You have earned yourself a stay of interest. Pray you do not lose it."

I nodded courteously at her. "Now that the business that saw me use the Ways is done, it has occurred to me that, perhaps, I applied more force than necessary in convincing you to let me pass you by. So, considering the date, in the spirit of Christmas and reparations, I would like to offer you a deal."

"Your pleasantries and formality are pleasing, wizard, but my leg yet pains me," she said warningly.

"The short summary of the deal, with further details and context to be discussed if you're interested, is that you would get three questions. If you use one to ask me something, I reply. No lying, no wordplay, no half-truths. Just a straight response."

"And you think that is enough to earn you forgiveness for your insult?" she asked.

"Maybe," I said. "In exchange, I would get three vetoes, three questions I can decline to answer. If I veto a question, you can ask another; you don't lose one. The arrangement ends when you run out of questions or I run out of vetoes."

"And what is stopping you from simply vetoing all of my questions?" she asked, fashioning a chair of ice within the circle and sitting down.

"Do I take that as a sign of interest?" I asked.

"Yes, yes," she said, waving dismissively.

"I would ask that the proportion of questions I've answered be valued as weregild towards putting this incident behind us. So, if I veto all your questions, we're back at square one."

"And if I tire of this arrangement?"

I shrugged. "Use up my vetoes. I'm sure you can think of questions I wouldn't ever answer."

"Hmm. And is that the extent of the deal?"

I snorted. "Of course not. We're still negotiating." I spread my palms towards her. "Do you have any concerns on your end?"

"How would the nature of these questions be determined?" she asked.

"Formally. You can decide on the wording, but I have to know what it is and it should be clear to me. Something like 'my first question is' would be appropriate."

"And any other questions I have?"

"I answer them like I'd normally answer them. Like a cagey squirrel."

The Leanansidhe smiled faintly. "And are these my questions alone?"

"If you want to get input or advice, you're free to," I replied.

The Leanansidhe's smile widened. "Ah, now I see. You seek to tempt me with my queen's interest in you."

I shrugged. "Is it working?"

She folded her hands in her lap. "Perhaps. How will you use your vetoes?"

"However I want," I replied. "But in the interests of cordiality, questions that try and encompass a broad array of topics or touch on parts of my past I don't wish to share would likely be vetoed."

"That seems to leave me at a disadvantage, does it not? How would I know what you do not wish to share before I ask?"

"You're getting three questions and three straight answers from me. That's a lot and you know it. Moreover, the vetoes themselves also tell you something."

The Leanansidhe nodded slightly. "I have no more questions I wish to ask."

"Because you want to see if I forget a loophole," I said dryly. "First, while this deal is on, the grudge is held in abeyance. You don't get to attack me and ask your three questions. You don't get to send or use others to coerce me in any way either. Other incidents could come up and be resolved separately, but this one stays between us and only us while this arrangement stands."

She kept smiling.

"Second, you can't sell the arrangement or debt on. You can make bargains contingent on my answers if you wish, but I'm only answering your questions. That also means no proxies. You want an answer, you show up in person."

"Acceptable," she said.

I thought over what I'd said so far and wondered if I'd forgotten anything. "And third, in the event I use the Ways again, I will employ iron. If you come against me and get burned again, you have only yourself to blame."

"You would try to pass off fault in such a fashion?" she asked, brow slightly furrowed.

"I'm giving you fair warning. At this point, it's your choice whether you want to be shot full of iron, not mine."

"Hmph. How presumptuous."

"Do you want the questions or not?" I asked.

She steepled her fingers together. "I am tempted to simply sunder your circle and tear the answers from you."

"You can try," I said, doing my best to keep my voice level. "But whether you succeed, whether you get anything out of me, that's a gamble. I'm offering a surefire thing."

The Leanansidhe was silent for a minute, long enough for me to start getting antsy. But I didn't stop focusing on the circle at any point; if I had, she would've seized on it.

Finally, she said, "You will know my questions by the following preface: 'tell me, wizard.'"

"Does that mean you accept the deal?" I asked.

"I do," she said.

Nothing seemed to happen. There was no sensation, no shift, no feeling. Yet despite that, I knew the deal was on.

"Will you lower the circle now, wizard?"

"No, I don't think so," I said. "I don't want you deciding to use up all my vetoes right away."

The Leanansidhe smirked. "Do you not trust me to keep to our arrangement?"

"I think I know the exit clauses I included," I replied. "Do you have a question now, or should I send you on your way?"

"Don't rush me," she chided. "You wouldn't want to earn my ire again so soon, would you?"

I took a deep breath and shut up.

The Leanansidhe hemmed and hawed for the next few minutes, crossing and uncrossing her legs, moving her arms, shifting her dress in ways that highlighted different parts of her body. All distractions that I ignored. Or tried to, at least. She showed a lot of leg.

Curiously, at least outwardly, her left leg seemed completely fine. Whether that was a result of glamour or healing I couldn't tell. Or, well, I could, but I had no desire to use the Sight right then.

"Tell me, wizard," she finally said. "However did you come to rest upon the fair isle of Avalon?"

I couldn't completely fight down my smirk. "I... have absolutely no idea," I said slowly.

The Leanansidhe stilled and looked at me, her catlike eyes seeming to drill through me. A few seconds later, her gaze shifted to the boundaries of the circle. A good thirty seconds passed, and neither my will nor power wavered. I didn't break my word, after all; I really had no idea. I knew of the events and some of the circumstances leading up to my... call it transmigration, but she hadn't asked about those, and I didn't see how any of them were connected with me ending up on Avalon.

Finally, she leaned back in her seat and folded her hands together. "Interesting," she said. "You truly do not know."

I nodded.

"Then you must have been mortally wounded," she mused.

I controlled my expression and didn't rise to the obvious bait. "Is that another question?" I asked calmly.

"Hmm… no, I think not," she said. "Congratulations, wizard. You have surprised me twice over. Take comfort in that. It will not happen again."

"Sure," I drawled. Personally I thought it was closer to three times, including my escape from Avalon, but pressing that point right now would probably wipe away the little goodwill I'd managed to accumulate. "If that is all, good lady?"

"It is. Farewell, Harry Dresden. Know that I will not be so lenient the next time you encounter me upon the Ways." Then her chair folded and collapsed in on itself, taking her with it.

I waited half a minute, carefully peering over my circle to make sure she wasn't hiding there under a glamour or veil, and once I'd satisfied myself that I was alone in my mind, I let the image dissolve and settled down to nap.


	51. Chapter 4-IV

**December 1069**

Nothing really happened for the rest of the day. I napped, I wrote in my journal, I walked around to stretch my legs, I ate, I drank, and then I slept again when night fell. No one came to get me, and I didn't go to see anyone. Come morning, I skipped breakfast, packed my bag, grabbed my staff, and headed off for York Castle.

I spent a little time milling around at the base of the motte looking for Lucille, and only went up to the castle after I found her glancing out a window and made eye contact. Dealing with the gate guards was thankfully quick; it seemed like Robert had set one of his own to the task. Said guard took one glance at me and my staff before letting me into the courtyard and directing me towards a pair of saddled and packed horses before disappearing into the castle, presumably to get Robert.

I waited.

A few minutes later Robert came out, the guard that went in trailing after him, a large, bulging pouch in hand.

Lacking a voice, I had to settle for raising my eyebrows.

"Two horses, like you asked, both palfreys. Saddlebags have a mix of rations and two weeks worth of watered ale," he said. "Now, are you sure you wish to travel alone? I can spare a few guards."

I shook my head, and Robert grunted.

"As you wish. Here," he said, offering the pouch to me.

I took it in my right hand, and almost fumbled it because it was a lot heavier than it looked, a few pounds at least. When I pulled on the string and opened it, I found that the pouch was quite literally full of silver pennies.

I wasn't sure of the exact value of a few pounds sterling in me-modern day currency, but I was pretty sure this was the most money I'd ever had on hand at any point in my life.

"I'd offer more, but I didn't bring a war chest," Robert said.

I'm not sure exactly what expression my face was making at that moment, but I was sure "shocked" was a big part of it.

"Take it," he said. "You earned it."

I glanced between him and the pouch a few times, then slowly nodded. I pulled a few pennies out of the pouch, slid them into an outer pocket, and then rewound the string to close the pouch. Once it was nice and secure, I pulled back my duster and put the pouch in one of my inner pockets.

"We will need to speak when I return to Berkhamsted," Robert said.

I nodded.

"Hmm." He stepped back and waved to the horses. "Don't let me keep you."

I nodded again, got on the horse with some difficulty and complaining from my ribs, and then slowly started trotting through the city, pulling the second horse along by its reins. I wasn't feeling up to going fast right away, and in any case I needed to give Lucille some time to get out of the city ahead of me. So, it took me almost half an hour to wind my way around the city, cross the main bridge, get to the west gate, and exit York. I met up with Lucille a few minutes out of town, along the road, and once she mounted the spare horse we were off.

And on the second night of Christmas the vampire gave to me, a frustrating cover story.

You need to sing it, otherwise the reference doesn't land.

Lucille categorically refused to camp outside, and lacking a working set of vocal chords I was not well equipped to argue with her. Not that I particularly wanted to, I just couldn't to begin with. So I didn't put up that much of a fight when we rode an hour after proper nightfall to reach a hostel and set in for the night.

I really, really should've. I don't care to remember much of the details, but I think I can adequately summarize the entire frustrating experience with one line:

"Please, my dear uncle is old, hurt, and mute. Won't you take pity on us?"

Ugh. And the worst thing was that Lucille's ingenue act, while not good enough to fool me, was good enough to fool the innkeep and other travelers, so any negative response would've just been taken as me being a crotchety old bastard.

She was enjoying it, I could tell.

On the third and fourth nights of Christmas the vampire kept the cover story, though by the end of the fourth day my voice had recovered enough that I could faintly croak. It took another night and morning for it to actually start working again, so it was only on the fifth day that we had our first actual conversation.

We'd been following a winding set of roads south for a while now, and would probably keep doing that for another week, if not more. We'd ridden in relative silence the past few days, with me not being able to talk and Lucille not wanting to talk. But now I could actually respond, so.

"Can we talk about my father now?" she asked.

I sighed, shifted in my saddle, and said, "Alright."

"Why are you opposed to killing him?"

"Because I don't know anything about him?" I replied, wondering how that was even in question. "All I know is that you seem to view him as an existential threat to your wellbeing. That's nowhere near enough for me to go on. And if you're saying I should kill him just because he's a vampire involved in politics, I would really recommend you take a closer look at yourself and consider whether that's the argument you want to advance."

Lucille looked my way, and a few seconds later asked, "Why are you tolerant towards vampires? Because of a single example?"

I took a deep breath and considered her answer. Was it just because of Thomas? Well, sort of. I had been willing to accept and stomach an alliance of convenience with Lara where I hadn't with Bianca because of Thomas, in part. Because Lara was Thomas' sister and killing Lara, and thus killing Lord Raith, would have made things so much worse. But also, Lara had just been a lot more reasonable than Bianca. I mean, sure, both Lara and Bianca had tried to kill me shortly after meeting me, but after the misunderstanding had been cleared up Lara hadn't kept a grudge. Bianca had.

A grudge that had started a war.

But then again, Lara was also a much bigger threat than Bianca. Bianca had power, but only in Chicago. Maybe she could've grown to be a genuine major player, but Lara was already big. She was Lord Raith's right hand, and had no qualms about getting people killed to further her plans.

I guess it came back to a mixture of experience and Thomas.

"I wouldn't say I'm really tolerant," I said. "Just not intolerant. I don't judge people just for being a vampire. Vampires never really have a choice in becoming one." In the White Court's case, anyway. Probably in the Black Court's as well, though they're not around now. Less so in the Red Court's case. "I judge people for who they are. If they're assholes that hurt people, I don't like them. I oppose them. But… there are lines, I suppose. If I proactively killed every bad man and woman involved in politics, I'd have to remove a large chunk of the nobility. That would prompt chaos and wars and death and leave plenty of room for predators to thrive. And that's talking about people that couldn't really retaliate against me, not properly. Vampires are a different subject." I sucked in my cheek and sighed. "I'm willing to accept that your father is an asshole. Is he enough of one for me to go out and kill him?" I shrugged. "I don't know. Now, let me ask you a few questions."

"Very well," she said.

"Is this about safety, or about revenge?" I asked. "The way I hear it, you've been part of Robert's court for years. Has your father come after you in that time, made any requests?"

"No," she said grudgingly. "But only because I suspect he thinks he can use me and my connections."

"Suspect, thinks," I said. "I'm not saying it's not possible, but it could be unreasonable. Let me give you some food for thought: your father probably went through the same experience you did."

Lucille turned and gave a scathing, practically contemptuous glare.

"See, that's the problem with your whole Court," I went on. "Or, well, I guess I shouldn't speak for the Skavis or Malvora. I'm sure they have their own horrific initiation rituals, but I don't know the details there. But in the case of the Raiths, there's this continual cycle of abuse probably stretching up all the way to the first generation. Kid kills their first lover, parent comforts them and says it just had to happen, it's actually good for you, yadda yadda yadda. Kid grows up believing that's right, because they have to, because it means they're not at fault and their parent isn't at fault, and when they become a parent they do the same thing to their children. And on and on and on the wheel of horrific parental abuse turns."

"And you have a solution, I'm sure," Lucille snarled.

I shifted so that I could slightly lean in her direction. "Have you ever considered why the first feeding is lethal?"

Lucille frowned.

"Two reasons, the way I see it. A lack of knowledge leads to a lack of restraint. And the Hunger, when not held back, is strong enough to just tear apart a human. Could be that if you were actually told what you were, made aware of the Hunger, you could actually learn some restraint. I'm sure you've thought of something like that, maybe asked that of your father."

Lucille scowled and looked away. "What is your point?"

"My point is that what your father… allowed to happen, if not outright encouraged, is horrific. And sure, if you want to kill him for that, that's your right. But it…" I sighed in frustration. "It's hard to put this into words. It doesn't make him so bad that I should risk starting a war by killing him. Especially because it's not going to be a nice, easy war. I know the way the White Court work. They're not going to come at me or the Council directly. They'll swarm us with thralls, stir up religious and political tensions and superstitions, spur on witch hunts. They'll go after the smaller practitioners, enthrall or kill them, and if they can they'll try and enthrall wizards. It won't be a conventional war, not on either side."

"So you'll pile up a mountain of corpses for your daughter, but the rest of us just don't matter."

I brought my horse to a halt.

"Lucille," I said, my voice way too calm. "If you ever try to use the memory of my daughter again, we are through. Do you understand me?"

Lucille looked over her shoulder at me, peering first at my face and then glancing down to see me almost strangling the reins. "Perfectly."

I took one deep breath, two, three, and then nudged my horse back into motion. "Here's what I'll offer. If your father comes after you, or tries to do anything to you, I'm willing to stand in the way. If that escalates into a conflict between us or even a war, fine, I'll live with it. But if you want my protection, there are terms. Otherwise find some other patsy."

Lucille didn't respond to that, and I didn't feel like saying any more. We rode in silence for about an hour when Lucille turned to look at me.

"Two reasons," she said.

"Hmm?"

"You said there were two reasons the first feeding was lethal. The first reason you mentioned was a suspicion. What is the second?"

"Oh," I said. "The Hunger, when it wakes up, doesn't feed until it kills, it feeds until it's sated. And humans just don't have that much life force, relatively speaking, so the Hunger takes it all. But there are people and species out there that have enough life force to survive that first feeding. I once ran into a couple like that, actually."

Lucille shifted in her saddle to properly face me. "What do you mean?"

"Well, there was a girl, a vampire whose Hunger hadn't woken up, and a boy, a scion, the son of a woman and a…" I had no clue if the Forest People were an intercontinental group or limited to the Americas, so I hedged. "And a spiritually powerful being. One with enough power to make me look like a child playing with sticks next to a professional soldier. Anyway. Their son had inherited that power, that life force. So when the first feeding came and went, I guess he exhausted her or something. I don't know, I don't really want to dwell on the details."

"And what happened then?" she asked.

"Way I understand it, neither of them even realized what happened. So they stayed together, presumably continued having sex. Then the girl's father came along, tried to get her to kill the boy because 'that's the way things are done'," I said, affecting Barrowill's tone and drawl for a moment. "I took exception to that. Not effectively, but I did. Then the boy's father came along. He took exception much more effectively." I rolled my shoulders to work out a kink. "Last I heard, he took his son and the girl to keep her safe from her father, and that's all I know. Whether that relationship worked out or not…" I shrugged.

"Hmph. And how many scions of spiritually powerful beings are there running amok?" Lucille asked.

"Not many," I admitted. "But the point is the amount of life force, not the specifics of how someone ended up with that amount. There are plenty of beings with enough power that could handle a vampire's first feeding. Not for free, and probably not cheaply either, but if it's between that and horribly traumatizing your children… I don't know, seems like an easy choice to me."

"Could you provide an actual example?"

I thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Svartalves. They love beauty and sex is transactional to them. Probably wouldn't even have to pay them that much, honestly. I imagine that much like humans, there are some svartalves that get off on, uh… _initiating_ virgins."

"Svartalves?" Lucille asked.

"The best magical craftsmen on earth, and debatably anywhere. They live in underground fortresses around Denmark. Strong, not kind at all, but they stick to their word like a faerie and don't deal in as much wordplay. And very, very transactional about sex. A literal goddess had her necklace stolen and sold to the svartalves, and when she went to get it back, their price was to have sex with all of them."

Lucille furrowed her brow. "And she agreed?"

"Must've been a really nice necklace," I said.

Lucille's brow furrowed further. "So they deal in beauty and sex," she said slowly.

I gave her a look. "Yeah," I said.

"Hmm. Interesting."

* * *

Author's Note: At a rough estimate, Harry just got handed over twenty grand American.


	52. Chapter 4-V

**January 1070**

The new year came and went on the road.

All in all our journey south from York to Berkhamsted took us two weeks. Lucille didn't really engage me in conversation for the rest of our trip, and I was happy to go along with that. In fact, the only time we really talked outside of interactions like "are you ready to go" or "grab that bag" was when we were an hour out from Berkhamsted.

"How do you plan to get inside?" I asked Lucille. "I'm going to need both of the horses and I doubt you'll want the guards to see you with me."

"The fewer questions, the better," she agreed. "I think that, once we come within sight of the walls, I'll dismount and walk the rest of the way. It's daytime; the gates should be open."

"And if they're not?" I asked.

"Then I suppose I shall have to climb a wall," she said, as if that was the easiest thing in the world.

Vampires, man. So unfair.

"Alright. It's your head," I said.

It took us the better part of an hour to crest around Berkhamsted Forest and come up on the town itself. Lucille dismounted, and then started trudging in the horses' hoofsteps, making her way through seven to eight inches of snow. She quickly fell behind, but I glanced back over my shoulder every once in a while to make sure centaurs hadn't kidnapped her or something. Then I crossed the moat, reached the north gate, nodded to the guards standing just inside, and entered Berkhamsted.

A very large part of me wanted to just go home, turn the heating magic back on, and spend the rest of the day in a properly heated home reading and relaxing. However, I needed to meet a few people first, not to mention return the horses. So instead, I went to the castle.

Passing off the horses to the stablehands and making it clear that they weren't my horses and were instead loans from Robert didn't take long, and I spent a little longer in the stables checking over Shadowfax and making sure he was fine. John evidently must've gotten him moved in while I was gone. Once that was done I shook the snow off my duster, knocked the slurry off my boots, and headed off in the direction of John's chapel.

I think I must've come near the end of a service, because while the chapel was empty John was moving around putting things away. He glanced up idly as the door opened, looked away, then paused and looked back at me a moment later.

"Hey," I said, walking over to one of the middle pews and then slumping down with a sigh.

"Harry," he said, surprised. "You're back. And well."

"Well is relative," I replied. Two weeks of riding hadn't done my ribs any favors, and while I was fairly confident I wouldn't suffer any long term consequences on account of being a wizard, I was definitely not getting on a horse again. "Thanks for taking care of Shadowfax."

"Your horse? It was no problem, but you should thank the stablehands more than me." He moved to sit on the pew across from me and looked at me seriously. "Were you successful?"

"Yes."

"And the coin is…"

"On it's way to the Vatican," I said. "One of my… allies who is fully aware of the dangers is handling that."

"Was anyone hurt, killed?" he asked.

"Just Cerdic," I said with a sigh. "I tried to give him a chance, but he didn't take it. We had to kill him."

"That is unfortunate, and I will pray for his soul, but it is good and… surprising that a victory was achieved so bloodlessly, especially in the case of one such as Ursiel," he said.

"We got lucky," I said bluntly. "And you can probably expect a lot of questions from Robert and probably William as well when they get back."

John paused. "How much did you tell them?"

"Enough to get my point across. Fallen angel coming to kill them, bound to Cerdic, really powerful. I didn't mention the Order or the Coins at all."

"That is good," he said with a nod. "Ignorance is often the best way to avoid temptation."

"That was my reasoning," I said. "Anything happen while I was gone?"

"The Lady Lucille left for London around the time you vanished. I find the timing curious, particularly in light of the passage we read," he said.

"I can neither confirm nor deny her involvement in anything that happened," I said. "And I think you should take the given reason at face value."

John looked at me for a few moments, and then slowly nodded. "Very well." He was silent for another few moments, then asked, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

I paused in the process of getting up, his tone sounding somewhat off. "What do you mean?"

John gave me a somewhat incredulous look. "Harry, in a matter of weeks you found and defeated a potent Fallen without any deaths or even injuries. This is after you were given guidance from the Almighty, or an archangel. As far as I'm concerned you've just performed a miracle."

I slowly sat back down, feeling uncomfortable. "I… really don't think that's warranted. And I'd rather you not spread that around; I don't need that kind of attention."

John nodded approvingly and said, "As you wish, but the point stands. I was afraid I'd sent you off to your death. From what little I've heard you certainly acted like it."

"Did Elfleda talk to you?" I asked.

"Remonstrated would be the better word," he said.

I sighed and rubbed the back of my head. "Look, just… ugh. Fine. I'll think about it."

John nodded solemnly.

"Where is she, anyway? The library?" I asked.

"Perhaps," he said. "I wouldn't know."

"Alright," I said, getting up with a sigh. "Talk to you later."

I started with the library, since that seemed to be her usual abode. I didn't feel a dip in temperature as I approached however, and a quick check inside confirmed that Elfleda was not there. Neither was Eva. Swing and a miss.

My next guess was her room. The air did start getting colder as I moved through the halls, but as I came to the hallway where Elfleda's room was, I heard music. It was a mix of strumming and humming, like someone was playing a string instrument and humming or singing along. I slowed down so that my boots didn't echo as loudly against the floor and tracked the sounds to Elfleda's door.

It sounded good. Really good. I wasn't sure what the standards for professional musicians was in this day and age, but I was pretty sure they weren't better than what I was hearing.

I listened for another few seconds and then, reluctantly, knocked on her door.

The strumming cut off. "Who is it?" Elfleda asked, her voice muffled by the door but still clearly annoyed.

"It's Harry. Can I come in?" I asked.

There was absolute silence for a few seconds, and then a strained, almost hesitant voice said, "You may as well."

I frowned and slowly opened the door, wondering if I was about to walk in on her naked or something. The reality turned out to be far more mundane. I opened the door and walked in to find her fully clothed, sitting on her bed, with a lute in hand.

I furrowed my brow and looked around. "What about this is supposed to be embarrassing?" I asked hesitantly.

Elfleda huffed and set the lute down. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Close the door, please."

I did so, then moved to lean against the dresser in the room. "Okay," I said, not getting what was going on.

Elfleda sighed and glanced at the lute, then looked back at me. "The lute is for you. I was planning it as a surprise for an appropriate moment, but…"

"Okay," I said again, still not getting it.

"Ugh," she groaned, rolling her eyes. "Well, you're back. That's good. Were you victorious, one less demonic bear in the world?"

"Yeah, dealt with that a few weeks ago," I said.

Elfleda arched an eyebrow. "A few weeks ago," she said slowly. "And you couldn't have informed me earlier?"

I frowned. "How?"

She looked at me as if I were an idiot. "By owl," she said slowly.

I blinked. "Oh. Right. That." I rubbed the back of my head sheepishly. "Honestly, I just forgot."

"You forgot," she said.

"To be fair, I don't have a messenger owl. I just borrow one as necessary."

Elfleda let out a long sigh, then shifted over on the bed and patted the spot next to her. I looked at her, then the bed, then her, then slowly got up and went over.

"How's Eva?" I asked.

"Nervous and worried," Elfleda said. "We had to go and buy her another layer of clothes to handle the transfiguration."

"Oh. But no one's found out?"

"No, thankfully," she said. "Will you be resuming the lessons tomorrow? Or will you be leaving again?"

"I don't plan on leaving the house for a week for any other reason than to get food and water," I said. "And I don't plan to leave Berkhamsted again until the snow thaws."

"You didn't plan to leave earlier, and yet you did," she pointed out.

"That was a major emergency. I can't really account for those," I said.

Elfleda sighed. "Do you have to deal with them yourself?"

"Yes."

She sighed again. "You're so frustrating." She looked my way. "Will you be staying for supper?"

"Probably not, unfortunately," I said. "Two weeks on the road in the dead of winter has been a decidedly unfun experience. I want to go home, bundle up in furs, and stop aggravating my cracked ribs."

Elfleda frowned in concern. "Your ribs are cracked?"

"Giant demon bear slammed me into the ground," I said. "I'm lucky he didn't snap my spine."

If that happened though, this time around, I was going to Titania. Screw my complete lack of interaction with her, I was not going to deal with Mab, especially not over a broken back, not again.

Elfleda sighed. "First an arm, now your ribs. Is it normal for you to get injured this frequently?"

I thought back over the past fifteen years of my life, then glanced over my body. "Seems so."

She shook her head. "One day, I should ask you where all your scars come from."

"One day, I might tell you," I said.

I went home soon after, moving Shadowfax from the castle stables to my stable in the process. I brought out some oats and an apple for him, avoided biting fingers, and then went back inside my house. I lit the fireplace, started preparing supper, and restarted the heat circulation enchantments, bringing them back into order where they were a bit erratic. Most of the kinks had been worked out over the past month, but there were still occasional fluctuations I needed to manually account for, and I hadn't stress-tested it for spring or summer yet. I'd be fiddling with the currents for a while yet.

After I'd eaten, I went upstairs to go to bed. I took off my duster and hung it over the back of my chair, right next to where my sword rested.

Wait.

I blinked, looking at the sword that shouldn't have been there. My sword, last I saw it, was downstairs, made of silver, wasn't quite as long or wide, and was in a scabbard. This sword was five feet long, heavy, shaped like a broadsword, made of steel, and completely naked.

Oh yeah, one last trivial detail. Worked right into the base of the blade, just above the guard, was a single rusty nail.

I looked straight up at the ceiling and asked, "Are you fucking kidding me?!"

* * *

Author's Note: As Jonas Salk said, "The reward for work well done is the opportunity to do more."


	53. Chapter 4-VI

**January 1070**

Elfleda and Eva came by at noon, resuming the regular schedule. I had lunch prepared – technically dinner in this day and age, but I preferred the term lunch – by the time they arrived, a few months of this process having established a fairly consistent level of punctuality. Telling exact time by the positioning of the sun was still an iffy prospect for me, I was too used to analog clocks and watches, but it made sense that a society that didn't have such grand luxuries would have to get used to telling time another way.

Eva looked relieved to see me when I opened the door for them, and as they stepped inside I noticed that Elfleda was carrying the lute from yesterday. I didn't comment on it then, just stepping back so they could take their cloaks off before leading them into the main room.

The moment we all sat down, Eva immediately started talking. "What happened? Where did you go?"

I paused in the process of picking up fork and knife. I shouldn't have been surprised by the questions, Eva was curious and fascinated with all kinds of magic. And I had, essentially, up and left on something I had admitted to be highly risky and probably stupid, and had only now come back.

But the sheer… verve in her voice had still surprised me.

I started cutting into my meat and used that as an excuse to buy time and put my thoughts in order, wondering exactly how much I should reveal. "Have you come across the Nevernever in the books you've been reading?"

She shook her head. "They've been… hard to get through."

I grunted in understanding. I'd been juggling teaching her Latin and philosophy and magic, had plans to add in general education in there like math and the sciences, and Elfleda had her on Greek, and she had her own life, and so on and so forth. She had a lot of things to cover and try and I didn't have a lot of free time to spend on getting her proficient in Latin. Especially since I'd cheated to get to where I was now with the language, and my memories of the correspondence courses I took were hazy.

I guess I could guarantee John's help and silence now though, so maybe I could get him to help there.

"Well, in short, the Nevernever is a parallel mirror world to this one, to reality," I said in between bites. "Though that's not the best term since the Nevernever is also real, but…" I shook my head. "That's getting into magical theory that's not going to be relevant for a while. Just imagine it as a world alongside our own for now."

Eva nodded slowly, starting to pick at her food.

"Like our world there are a lot of regions to the Nevernever. Both in the simple geographical sense of having hills and plains and forests and deserts and all that- yes?"

"What's a desert?" Eva asked.

Right, young unread rural Saxon.

"Imagine a plain, and then replace all the grass and greenery with sand," I said. "Don't worry about that right now. The Nevernever is many, many times larger than our own world. Could be infinite for all I know. There are a lot of realms in there, places and areas of significance, but the main one for this discussion is Faerie. Faerie encompasses the majority of the parts of the Nevernever that touch on our world."

"Touch on how?" she asked.

"The Nevernever and our world are connected on an emotional, symbolic level," I said. "If there's a place in our world that is dark, spooky, and eerie, like a catacomb, then it connects to someplace dark, spooky, and eerie. But if you went ten feet up into the main body of a church, it would connect somewhere else, depending on the state of the church, where it was, and so on. So, if you can learn to navigate Faerie, you can cross large distances in the real world in a relatively short amount of time. Established, consistent routes through the Nevernever are called Ways."

"And you took one?" she asked.

"Sort of. More like I sort of half-blindly wandered to where I thought the king and the earl were," I said. "Which incidentally, you should generally avoid doing, even when you aren't being hunted."

"Hunted?" Eva asked, alarmed.

"Do you remember what Harry and I taught you about the Winter Court?" Elfleda asked.

Eva nodded. "The evil faeries."

Elfleda smiled faintly. "Hmph. Well, their Queen is pursuing Harry. In both the literal and metaphorical senses?"

Eva frowned slightly. "What metaphorical sense?" she asked.

"Hmm." Elfleda tapped a finger against her lips. "Courted would be an appropriate synonym, I think."

Eva's eyes grew wide.

"Doesn't that word carry connotations of marriage?" I asked. "Because I'm pretty sure that's not what she's looking for."

"Woo, then?"

"Enthrall and bewitch seem more appropriate," I replied.

"Uhm… why?" Eva asked. "Is she after you, I mean?"

"That's the million pound question right there," I sighed. "But those particular details about my personal life aren't relevant right now."

"Did you not just say you were being hunted for those reasons?" Elfleda asked.

"Not super relevant," I stressed. "I ran through the Nevernever, got intercepted by the Queen's handmaiden near the end, and had to get around her, which took some work. Which leads me to my first note: when you think you're going to be dealing with faeries, Eva, always pack iron. They hate the stuff, it's completely anathema to them. Won't make many friends doing that, but it's the fastest and most reliable way to overcome a faerie."

Elfleda furrowed her brow. "You employed iron against the handmaiden of the Queen of Winter?"

"Yeah."

"And you're not dead?" she asked, surprised.

"It was a bit close, but I got away. The next day I sort of bought her off."

Elfleda's furrow intensified. "How?"

"I sold her the right to ask three questions about my past in exchange for… overlooking a few things," I said.

Elfleda slowly blinked. Then again. Then again. "Truly?" she asked, sounding surprised.

"Figured it was the best way to get her off my back. And it worked," I said.

While Elfleda worked through that revelation, I turned back to Eva. "When I came back out of the Nevernever, I was in York. There, I met up with a few friends, and together we set up a trap for the demon."

"The bear," Eva said, and I nodded. "Was it the same bear as the one you mentioned not using a sword against?"

I paused slightly. I'd forgotten I'd brought up Ursiel as an example before, even indirectly.

"Yes," I said. "But that time was just an example. This time at York was my first time actually encountering it."

Elfleda gave me a bit of an odd look at that, but I ignored it. If she could somehow detect lying, which I wasn't sure she could – was deception even an emotion? – then I'd just have to bank on wizardly vagueness. I really needed to get my story straight one of these days, figure out how I could fit in all of my knowledge and experiences while avoiding any provable contradictions and general impossibilities.

"The fight was… rough, it almost broke my ribs, but eventually we managed to subdue and slay the demon. After that, I made my way back here on horseback," I said.

I wasn't a hundred percent sure about leaving out the roles Lucille and Tim had played. But I figured that, while our relationship was still tenuous at best, drawing attention to them was probably not worth it – and, in turn, drawing their attention to Eva and Elfleda.

I cleaned off my plate, set it aside, and sighed. "Now, onto the main subject of today's lessons. I'm going to teach you how to make a shield."

Eva frowned in a combination of confusion and worry, while Elfleda gave me an interested look.

"It's a bit early in your curriculum, all things considered, but it's a valuable skill to learn and between that and the running routine I'll have you start, it'll serve you well if you run into any danger."

"Running?" Eva asked, alarmed.

"Running is exercise. Exercise is good for you, keeps you healthy, in shape," I said. "And if you ever find yourself in a situation where you need to run, particularly run away, you'll quickly come to value that exercise."

"But… don't I have magic for that?" she asked.

"Running is more consistent, and reliable. And if you combine magic with running, you'll go faster. Also, this is not a debate." I frowned slightly. "I really should have started you on some light physical regimen earlier, you're at the best age for it."

"Can I… not?" she asked.

"Not if you want to remain my apprentice," I said, and meant it.

I didn't plan or want to train her in combat tactics or magic, but if she stayed my apprentice that meant she'd attract interest just because of that. I wanted to make sure she knew enough to protect herself and get away, in that case.

She seemed to seriously consider that for a few moments, which made Elfleda laugh. "Does the notion of engaging in some light athleticism distress you so much?"

"Well, I mean, but… isn't it improper?" Eva asked.

"And so what if it is?" Elfleda asked, shrugging. "You're a witch, you have different standards of propriety."

"Do you do it?" Eva asked Elfleda. "'Engage in light athleticism', I mean?"

"I do not. But then, I am not a witch," she said, then glanced my way with an amused glint in her eyes. "Though perhaps I should start?"

It took me a few moments to figure out what she really meant, though it seemed like Eva beat me to the punch. She glanced between me and Elfleda, frowned, and asked, "Should I go to the lab now?"

I looked at her and asked, "Why?"

"You're flirting," she said slowly, as if not entirely sure.

I blinked slowly, then even more slowly turned to face Elfleda, who had started laughing.

"It seems, you have finally learned, to identify such things," Elfleda said in between guffaws.

I sighed deeply. "No. We're focusing on shields." Then I flicked my finger at Eva's forehead and added a tiny amount of magic to the motion.

"Ow!" she yelped, flinching back and rubbing at her head. "What was that for?"

"Light encouragement," I said dryly.

I walked her through the process of how to form a shield, how to wield and shape and force the magical energy into the proper shape, and by the end of the session she'd managed to form a rudimentary shield. It hadn't held up to even a single forceful flick, but for a start it was pretty good.

Though, I wonder if teaching her how to make a shield was really the best way of going about it, considering her talents. Maybe it would be more effective for her to learn how to reflexively Transfigure a physical shield? She'd probably grasp it easier, considering her natural talent.

It was something I'd have to ask Helga, or Rowena, see how feasible that really was.

An hour later, I sent her to the lab to do some reading and minor experimentation, since I knew from personal experience that spending long hours working on shields was a very boring experience. Pain had been the main thing motivating me after the first ten minutes in my own apprenticeship.

That left me and Elfleda alone in the main room as I finally set about cleaning and washing the plates and cutlery.

"Thank you for the lute, by the way," I said over my shoulder.

"It wasn't difficult," she replied. "Simply time-consuming to have one delivered."

"I figured. Did you ask one of the traders to bring it up?" I asked.

"After finding one that could do the job," she confirmed.

"I didn't know you played. Or that well, either."

"It has been… some years since I last played a lute. I'm more familiar with the lyre and the harp."

"Do you have one?" I asked. "Of either?"

"You phrased that awkwardly. And yes, a lyre. Harps are more troublesome to transport. Would you like to hear me play?" she asked.

"Please," I said. "I'm not really familiar with the standard songs, and it would be good therapy."

"Therapy?" she asked.

I raised my right hand and waggled my fingers. "To help my hand and fingers recover, get back the old dexterity. Playing an instrument demands fine control, so it's good practice and exercise."

"Hmm. Do you think Eva would benefit from learning to play?"

I paused in my scrubbing. "Practically, magically? Not really. Her hands and fingers work fine and I don't even know where to start with any kind of music-related magic. But as a hobby?" I shrugged. "You should ask her, get her opinion on it."

Elfleda's only response was a musing hum, and when the silence started to drag on, I focused completely on the cleaning. Once I was done and the plates and cutlery laid out to dry, I went back to the main table, sat down, and brought the lute over. Then I took off my right glove.

My hand was still gnarly. There had been a moment early on where the skin had been touch-and-go, at risk of sloughing off, but that critical moment had passed and now it was just thin, boney, and bruised. It was why I preferred gloves.

I gingerly tried to strum on the lute strings, then winced and pulled my fingers back. "Yeah, that's not going to work," I said, fighting through the pain. I slipped the glove back on and found Elfleda looking consideringly at me.

"What?" I asked.

"You are very peculiar," she said. "You risked your life just getting to York in a way that you admit is unwise even under normal circumstances. You took up iron, the Bane, and used it against one who I presume is a very powerful Sidhe. And all this, you did simply to avoid the Queen of Winter, when it would've been simpler and safer to deal with her. Why?"

"Because she's Mab," I said, and Elfleda blinked at my use of her name. "It's never just one thing with her." I shook my head. "Not being able to use the Nevernever is a pain, but it's one I can handle, one I have been working around." One I need to start working around a bit more. Maybe I should revisit my flying broom idea. The first attempt had been an abysmal failure, but I'd come a long way since that first attempt. "Getting involved with her is like willingly traipsing through quicksand. The harder you struggle to get out, the deeper you sink." I decided to start my therapy on a cover of Stairway to Heaven. "I trust her only as far as I can throw her, and I can't throw her."

"Hmm."


	54. Chapter 4-VII

**January 1070**

Things fell back into a rhythm for the next two weeks, broken only by Hogwig coming by with a letter saying the next team meeting would be at my house. Which was good, because there was no way I was leaving town for the next few months. Especially not for the eight to ten day round trip it would take to reach Rowena's tower and come back.

Once the date was tentatively set, I warned Eva and Elfleda that I'd probably have to end up cutting one of their lessons short, and since I didn't know the Ways around Berkhamsted – or really anywhere, for that matter – I couldn't give a better time estimate than that.

They came at around three hours past noon on the last day of the month. They tripped my alarm wards on approach, a fairly simplistic system that detected proximity and power in the town. Berkhamsted was small enough that I could manage that. They then relayed this information to me through a series of candles I had set up – one in the main room, in my bedroom, and one in my laboratory. They shifted through color to denote proximity, and size to denote strength.

The size of the candle-flame that marked my colleagues' approach wasn't the largest I'd ever seen – that had to go to the first time I met Ivy – but it was large enough that I got wary even though I was expecting company.

Taking precautions against attack and making sure that Helga, Rowena, and Salazar actually were Helga, Rowena, and Salazar was… a bit complex, but ultimately everything worked out and we all sat down around my kitchen table.

"Alright. Eva, Elfleda, these are my colleagues Helga, Rowena, and Salazar," I said, gesturing at each of them. Helga and Rowena's nods were friendly and polite, while Salazar's was just polite. "And this is Eva, my apprentice, and Elfleda…" I trailed off when I got to Elfleda, not really sure how to describe her.

"Eva's tutor in everything not related to magic," she supplied.

I could guess Salazar's next question, and it seems like Helga could too because she held a finger up in front of him and furrowed her brow. "Elfleda, Elfleda," she muttered. "Oh, right. She's that practitioner you asked me about her back… six months ago. Thereabouts. When you called me in to help."

I nodded, then turned to meet Elfleda's look and arched eyebrow. "Hey, back then, I had no clue who you were or what you could do," I said.

Elfleda considered that for a moment before humming and nodding.

"Are they to sit in on this meeting?" Salazar asked.

"No. But I figured it wouldn't hurt to introduce everyone," I said.

"Which is a good idea," Helga interjected before Salazar could get another word in, then turned to smile at Eva and Elfleda. "It's nice to meet you. Harry hasn't said much about you. Or at all, in some cases."

"Similarly," Elfleda said.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up suddenly.

"In fact, he's only mentioned you twice," she went on, and my bad-feeling-radar started pinging louder. "Once regarding… whatever happened in York, and once after the… draugr. Speaking of which, which of you got the letter from him after that? I appreciate the stay it bought."

"Oh, that was me," Helga said blindly.

"Ah," Elfleda replied sweetly. "Thank you."

"Okay," I said, my voice a little strained. "We've got work to do now so we'll have to put the rest of this off to tomorrow."

"But we haven't even talked," Helga said.

"Indeed," Elfleda added.

I skipped right past Rowena, who was watching the proceedings with a bemused look, and stared directly at Salazar, pleading with my eyes.

Salazar gave me a disgusted look and then loudly cleared his throat. "Unfortunately, there are sensitive matters we have to discuss right now," he said, glancing sternly at Helga.

No one could've missed the resulting tension, especially with the way Helga sighed and sat back. Elfleda glanced at me and furrowed her brow, and I nodded at her and Eva in return. "I'll see you tomorrow," I said.

Elfleda gave me a long look, then took a deep breath and stood up, Eva mirroring her movements. "It seems we'll have to chat another time," she said to Helga.

Helga nodded minutely, and then Elfleda and Eva left. I didn't put up the wards once they were gone, figuring that might be construed as a potentially hostile action at that point in time.

When I sat back down and faced Helga, Rowena, and Salazar, the positioning struck me as being uncomfortably similar to that of a tribunal.

"Harry, after some discussion, we've concluded that we have some… concerns," Helga said gently.

"They have concerns," Rowena said, finally speaking up. "I have questions."

Helga let out an irritated sigh and side-eyed her friend. Meanwhile, I turned to Salazar and arched an eyebrow, figuring he was the source of most of these concerns. "And they are?"

"The necromancy, the demonology, the demonic figure haunting you under the Sight, your relationship with the Winter Court, and your reluctance to use the Ways," Salazar summarized, then took a deep breath. "Though I will… allow that the last point is less of a concern and more of an issue."

Helga split her side-eyes between me and Salazar for preempting her. I gave her a few seconds to get that out of her system and then leaned back with a sigh.

"Alright. Well, before we get into a point-by-point discussion of those concerns, I'd like to make an opening statement," I said.

Helga nodded, and I scooted my chair back a bit. "Right, one moment, it's kind of unwieldy." I bent down to pick up the fur-bundled package I'd put down beneath the table, and when I got back up I saw Rowena looking at me curiously, Helga looking at me warily, and Salazar having practically drawn his wand. "Here we are." I dumped the five foot long bundle of furs down on the table, where it landed with a _clunk_. Then I unwrapped the furs to reveal Amoracchius, and lifted it up by the hilt. "I would like to draw everyone's attention to this nail here."

There was a very, very soft _tap_ as Salazar presumably dropped his wand into his robe-sleeve.

Helga frowned and blinked. "And…"

"This is one of the three Nails of the Cross," I said. Then I stopped and blinked. "At least I assume there are just three. I've never actually heard of a fourth one." I glanced at Salazar, but it seemed like he hadn't fully processed things yet. "Anyway, each of the Nails was worked into a sword. Collectively, they're the Swords of the Cross, functionally the most powerful swords in the world, holy or not. Salazar, you want to field this next part?"

"How… how do you _have one_?!" he asked.

"It was given to me to safeguard," I said, prompting Salazar to start choking.

Helga gave him a worried look. "Salazar? Are you alright?"

Rowena turned her head and gave him a once-over. "He'll be fine. He's just trying to resolve the seeming paradox in his head."

"What paradox?" Helga asked. "Is this some other old age wizard thing?"

"I'm not that much older than you," I said. "And no, more like kind of an obscure supernatural thing. This sword is Amoracchius, the Sword of Love. You might know it better as Excalibur."

Helga instantly shot a wide-eyed look at me.

"Hmm… no, not quite," Rowena said, leaning forward to look it over.

I blinked and turned to look at Rowena. So did Helga and Salazar, who had somewhat recovered by this point.

"Its general style and proportions are similar, but it's larger than the actual Excalibur," Rowena said, having gotten up from her seat and gotten closer by this point. "By a somewhat significant margin. I suspect this was remade in the original Excalibur's image at some later date, perhaps using the original or part of it."

"Huh. I… didn't realize that," I said, correcting what I was about to say. In this day and age, Excalibur hadn't been around that long, so if I seemed familiar with some later potential remix then I was "dating" myself to the past few centuries. "And how do you know that?"

"I have some journals from that era. They describe Excalibur, among other things," Rowena said idly, giving the blade a final once over before returning to her seat.

"You have journals from the time of Camelot," Helga said slowly and flatly.

"Yes."

Helga took a deep breath. "When I asked if you had any deep, dark secrets, you said no."

"Because this was neither deep nor dark. It was just irrelevant."

Helga took another few deep breaths. "I think… that we have strayed from the point. A lot."

"Not necessarily," Rowena said. "I assume you didn't have this before York? I imagine it would've been useful."

"Somewhat. Even with a proper wielder Ursiel's strong enough to beat a Knight," I said. "But yes, I found it in my room after I came back."

"So there it is," Rowena said. "In a sense, that sword is a sign of God's approval."

"That just raises more questions!"

"Enough," Salazar ground out. "The Sword… changes matters, but it doesn't change why we came here." He fixed me with a look. "How much did you tell your paramour about York?"

"She's not my paramour. And the bare minimum, that I went to kill a demonic bear. Didn't name any names, didn't describe any methods," I said, returning the look.

"Hmm. Fine. The necromancy?" he asked.

"You're talking about the draugr, I assume."

"Yes," he said. "You controlled a potent undead practitioner, practically a wizard. That goes far, far beyond crudely animating a fresh corpse; any wizard or witch with a basic understanding of how the sympathetic connections work could accomplish that. What you did requires extensive experience and practice."

"Or to read a book," I said. "Written clearly and concisely by someone with said extensive experience and practice."

Salazar narrowed his eyes. "You mean to say that you learned how to control a draugr through reading about it in a book, without practicing beforehand."

I nodded.

He leaned back. "The only book I am aware of that could possibly have contained that knowledge is the Necronomicon, and if you were at all associated with that book you would already be dead."

"Well it's a good thing I'm not, then," I said. "Look, someone wrote the book. I read the book, once. The book no longer exists, nor does the writer. For what I should hope are very obvious reasons, I'm not going to say more. The kind of necromancy that I read should be forgotten forever, and the only reason I read it in the first place was to learn enough to figure out how to stop a major necromantic threat. Including the draugr, I've used it all of two times, and on neither occasion did I break the Fifth Law."

"That is very vague," he said.

"I'm not making it any clearer," I replied. "I don't do necromancy, I don't plan to do necromancy, and I don't plan to teach necromancy."

Salazar and I had an eadric-off for a full minute. Then he grunted and moved on. "Fine. The demonology."

"Like I said, that was relayed to me. Through multiple parties, some mortal, some not," I said, drumming my fingers against Amoracchius' hilt.

"You mean to say that you were taught some demonic lore by angels?" Salazar asked.

"Yes," I said. There went another fae-ist half-truth. And, well, it was sort of, kind of accurate; Uriel hadn't mentioned _much_ about the Fallen, but he had mentioned a little. "And frankly the fact that I'm holding this sword and actually busted my ass when a Denarian showed up should be proof enough I'm genuine."

"And the demonic mark upon you?" he pressed.

I took a deep breath. "You're going to have to describe that to me."

"A tall, broad, vaguely humanoid creature, an ill-proportioned shadow. Shoulders too wide, arms too long, legs crooked and too thick. It seemed to be scaled or furred or –"

"Stop," I said, wincing as his description dragged up bad memories. "I know what you're talking about." I took a deep breath and wondered how to answer.

Did I say the full truth, that my master had sicced He Who Walks Behind, a damn Walker on me when I was sixteen and had only half a clue what I was doing? That would raise a lot of subsequent questions, questions I couldn't really answer. Questions I just simply didn't know the answer to.

But if I didn't tell the full truth, then what did I leave out?

"I wish that was a demon," I said, letting out a long sigh. "But it's not. It's an Outsider."

Salazar slowly, like three-seconds-long slowly, blinked. "An Outsider."

I let out another sigh, let go of Amoracchius, and leaned back in my seat. "My first master picked me up when I was ten. I spent six years under him learning the Art. He wasn't exactly nice or kind, but… I thought he was fair. Good." I blew out some air. "He was teaching another apprentice alongside me, and one day I came back to my master's home and found that he had bound her and was in the process of turning her into a thrall. He then tried to do the same to me. I fought back, ran. He… I don't know what happened, really. Whether he panicked or called some benefactor, or… something. But before the night was out, he'd summoned an Outsider and sent it after me."

"And you _won_?" Salazar asked.

"I got very, very lucky, and managed to use the environment against it," I said. "It's not really something I like to dwell on, but the experience marked me." I let out another sigh. "Something I really should've remembered before I basically asked you to use the Sight on me. Though to be fair, you're the one that looked past my hand."

Salazar slightly inclined his head to acknowledge the point. "Your master, and the other apprentice. What happened to them?"

"He burned," I said quietly. "I came back a few weeks later, and he tried to use her against me. We fought and I just…" I shrugged. "I had more power but that's it. He had decades of experience on me and he'd taught me everything. I couldn't afford to get clever. Really, I'm surprised she managed to survive and get away. I only met her again years later, and then briefly. I don't know where she is now or what she's been doing or if she's even alive."

All true, in a sense. It was possible Elaine had died sometime before my confrontation with the Red Court, or in the chaos of the aftermath and the rise of the Fomor. I doubted that, personally, but it was possible. And since I was sure she wasn't around _now_, I preferred to close off that avenue of questioning.

"So you've killed with magic?" Salazar asked.

I took a deep breath and nodded.

And then the damndest thing happened – rather than tear into me, to any degree, Salazar just looked at me and slowly nodded. It didn't feel approving, more… sympathetic.

The look passed so quickly it was gone just as I noticed it, but it had been there.

"…well," Helga said quietly a few moments later. "That's… I'm sorry."

I shrugged. "It is what it is." I turned back to Salazar. "The Winter Court now?"

He nodded.

I took a deep breath and thought, screw it, in for a penny, in for a pound. "Has Helga told you about me being stuck in the Nevernever for a while?"

"She has," he said.

"Good, so I don't need to explain that bit or answer why you've never heard of me. Now, my mother was involved with the Fae, with Winter specifically. Somehow, I don't know how, she managed to pay a Sidhe enough to be my faerie godmother. After I beat the Outsider and ran off, she showed up."

"Not before?" Rowena asked.

I shook my head. "She was Winter. Offloading my magical education onto someone else while teaching me the virtue of suspicion was viewed as a good thing. Then the Outsider happened. I didn't really know what she was when I ran into her, since my first master hadn't taught me about the Fae, and I was young and panicked so I made a shitty deal. The strength to defeat my master in exchange for... well, essentially, my freedom."

Everyone across from me winced.

"Yeah. I spent the next ten years running from that." I took a deep breath. "Then, one day, the Winter Queen comes before me, and tells me she bought my debt. Then, she makes me an offer I couldn't refuse: I perform three tasks for her, and wipe away the debt." This next part here is why I didn't want to date myself: I didn't know how old Mab really was, but I figured she wasn't _that_ old. "I got through two tasks before I… skipped forward. And now here I am: owing the current Queen a debt of one task."

"And bearing her interest," Salazar said.

"Well, yeah, but I have no clue what that's about. How do you know about that, anyway?"

"For one, Helga and Rowena both told me. But before that, I knew because all of Faerie knows."

I stared at Salazar. "Oh." I gulped. "_All_ of Faerie?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

I really shouldn't have been surprised, but… well, I was.

"Well. That should explain why I don't use the Ways, then," I said. "It's begging for trouble."

"And yet you did in order to get to York," he pointed out.

"That was a one-off emergency that almost got me killed, further reinforcing my desire to stay the hell away," I said.

"Why just the Ways?" Rowena asked. "If Mab wanted you, why is she limiting herself like that?"

I pursed my lips, then sighed. "She wants me to come to her. Sex with her in exchange for access to the Ways."

Rowena arched an eyebrow.

"Hmm." Salazar turned to face Helga. "My other points have been addressed, but this issue remains, and has only been magnified. Our task will be made significantly harder while Dresden is pursued and interdicted like this. The fact we have had to change our system to accommodate him is minor for now, but his inability to quickly react will compound and magnify future issues if we need him."

"Are we making a school, or a team of outriders?" Rowena asked. "His limitation regarding the Ways is inconvenient, but not crippling. And while Hogwarts is entirely theoretical –"

"Please don't use that name," I groaned.

"– the matter of whether he is compromised is irrelevant," Rowena finished.

"Can we not talk about my nonexistent sex life, please?" I asked.

Rowena and Salazar both turned to look at me, but it was Helga who slammed her hands down.

"Alright," she said slowly, her voice artificially calm. "It has been a very crazy day and I have reached my limit. Does anyone have anything related to the school and not Harry to talk about, at all?"

"Yes, actually," Rowena said. "After much experimentation, I've determined that it is possible to insert a spell matrix into a ley line and have it propagate. It is… not a simple process however, and it's one I'll have to handle myself, after we've determined the structure of the matrix."

Helga blinked. "Oh. That's good. That's very good." She took a deep breath. "Are there any risks?"

"If done improperly you could kill yourself and everything for at least a few hundred feet to a few miles around you, depending on the strength of the ley line or nexus you're cutting into," Rowena said. "In other words, the usual risks. Oh, and I suppose you could potentially follow the traces of the matrix back to the source, but that's completely impractical. You would need the power of a god to wade through all those ley lines and magic, and if you're a god you have other means to find the source."

"Could they use that link to more destructive ends?" Helga asked.

"If we somehow were unfortunate enough to be the targets of a god's ire, there are much easier ways they could express that ire than devastating all of the ley lines on the island," Rowena replied.

"That's… reassuring," Helga said. "Now, I… didn't really have anything else planned for this meeting. Did anyone else?"

The response was a round of shaking heads.

"Well. Then, for today, let's try and work on that spell matrix. Rowena, did you bring the notes from last time?"

Rowena nodded and pulled out a small notebook out of her robe, and it took me a few seconds to notice that the book, though small, was way too large to fit that snugly into her robes without some kind of magic.

"Good. So we'll work on that today, and then for the next meeting, which we'll have in… two months, say, I want everyone to come up with an idea regarding how to organize, manage, or make the school. Alright?"

Another round, this time of nods.

"Good," Helga said, nodding herself.

"Before we get into this, Helga, you never got back to me about how to get an owl," I said.

"Oh, right, yes, I didn't, sorry," Helga said. "It's not that hard, really, you just need to buy one. There's a breeder and keeper in this magical enclave in London. I –"

"I was planning on going there come springtime, to pick up more books and supplies," Rowena cut in. "I could take you there if you want."

For some reason, I thought I heard Salazar mutter "Oh God save me from this lunacy" under his breath. But that can't be true, because I don't know Basque.

"I would appreciate that," I said to Rowena. "Now, the notes?"


	55. Chapter 4-VIII

**February 1070**

The next day, I had a few, call it "housekeeping" items to take care of. First off, once lessons were done, I pulled out a plain, irregularly shaped block of wood and set it in front of Eva. She glanced down at it, furrowed her brow, and looked back up at me.

"I've been told that there is a sort of magical district down in London selling… I didn't actually ask about that," I said. "But books and messenger owls are included, and besides those I can't think of much else you could buy beyond materials and components made to the level of precision magic usually demands." I shook my head. "I plan to go there once spring rolls around, so in around a month and a half to two months."

Eva started to look tentatively hopeful and excited.

"Now this," I said, tapping the block of wood, "is a test. If, by the time I'm preparing to leave, you've managed to completely transfigure this block of wood into another material and kept it wholly in that state for three hours, I'll take you along. And if we're lucky, maybe something related to wand or staff-making will be available and we'll get you started on a focus."

In that moment, Eva looked like a girl that had just been told she could have a pony: wide eyes, bright smile, twitching from excitement. Then, a few seconds later, she started to look like a girl that had just realized what dealing with a pony actually meant, and her expression partially fell, and she looked back down at the block. "I… don't know how to do that. You haven't had me work on anything like this."

"That's why it's a test, and why you have time," I said. "Don't worry, you'll figure it out."

Though I sounded confident, the truth is I had no clue if she could actually manage this. I'd brushed up on the Transfiguration texts Rowena had provided so I could so I could nurture Eva's talent, but I'd run into what I might call a mental block. I could reshape certain materials and items easily enough, especially with a touch of soulfire, but full on Transfiguration, something like wood into iron? That was tougher for me. Even though I knew material Transfiguration should work, Helga and Eva were direct examples of that, my mind just kept trying to calculate how much energy a transformation "should" take and making my efforts wildly inefficient. In essence, the kind of Transfiguration Eva seemed to really be talented with, I couldn't do.

Now, that wasn't inherently a problem; Molly had been good with psychomancy and verisimilomancy and fine, precise work where I really hadn't been, and I'd still managed to teach her. But as with Molly, I just didn't know how to judge Eva's progress in that discipline.

Thus, the block of wood. I wanted to see how she approached it, how she broke down the task into steps, did the research and practice, and so on. That, I could critique and inform and help with. And it would give me a way to check if my mental barometer regarding Transfiguration was accurate; if Eva took most of the two months to do it, then I could assume it was roughly accurate and just keep escalating in terms of difficult projects. If she finished it inside a week or two, I'd need to recalibrate.

"Will it just be you and Eva going to London?" Elfleda asked.

"If Eva's successful, I'm thinking of maybe bringing Cuthbert along, with maybe a few guards as well. I don't know if he needs anything right now, but London's a major city so I'm sure he can find something of interest there."

Elfleda just coughed.

"Oh. Well, uh," I said, hesitant now that I guessed her meaning. "It would be kind of a big thing to take you… anywhere, really."

"By now, the entire town thinks we're courting," Elfleda pointed out. "This wouldn't change matters in that regard."

"I…" I sighed.

Partially, I didn't want to bring Elfleda along because Rowena was going to be there and I could see how that could get awkward, fast. But even more so, it just… seemed like a date. And not just a "pop down to the coffee shop for a chat" kind of date, but a road trip, a shopping road trip. That would be like taking her to Burger King.

I don't think I'm ready for the level of commitment that implies.

"Sorry," I said, shaking my head. "Not this time."

Elfleda let out a long sigh and folded her hands together. "Very well."

The tension in the air started to grow uncomfortable, so I moved on to the next topic. "Eva, about your Latin lessons, I think I've found a solution. Or at least an easier, more consistent way to practice."

"Yes?" she asked.

"Previously, I was hesitant to ask John for help just because I didn't know what his reaction would be and there's not really a subtle way to broach the question of 'can you teach my apprentice' without him figuring everything out. But after recent events, I think there's enough goodwill and understanding there that I can get his help and have him keep things secret. But that's not entirely my decision to make. Are you fine with me telling John you're a witch and asking him to take over teaching you Latin?"

"I… yes?" Eva said, sounding like she didn't understand why I was asking. "He's kind and nice. But why do you need to tell him I'm a witch."

"John is an intelligent man," Elfleda said. "And Latin is a language that is rarely spread beyond the Church. There are only so many reasons behind why Harry would ask him to teach you Latin, and they all relate to you being his apprentice in some form. And since you are not martially inclined and thus not the ideal fit for Harry's Fellowship, that leaves only one conclusion: he's teaching you magic."

"Fellowship?" Eva asked.

"The Fellowship of Saint Giles," Elfleda said.

"I don't know what that is," Eva replied.

Elfleda turned to look at me with a curious expression.

"It's never come up," I said. "And to be entirely honest, I sort of… fudged there. I wasn't sure how I'd be received so I erred on the side of looking like I was affiliated with the Church."

"So there is no monastic Fellowship of Jedi roaming the lands protecting them from evil?" Elfleda asked.

"No."

"That's disappointing," she said. "Perhaps you should fix that."

"Uhh… how?" I asked.

"Make your lie the truth. Start training people in earnest."

"I'll have to think about that," I said.

"Hmm. While we are on the subject of John, I'm curious how you'll explain my involvement," she asked.

"Well, there's no real way to hide that you know about Eva. Like you said, John's smart, he can put two and two together. So the only question is do you want me to hide the fact that you're a practitioner, or not."

"How much do you trust John to be discreet in this matter?" she asked.

"I would say very," I said. "Definitely very." Really, the fact that John was involved with the side of the Church that dealt with the Denarians was more reassuring than any personal assurances he gave me. It meant that he was trusted to deal with the magical WMDs that were the Fallen, and while the Church's judgment wasn't perfect – case in point, Cerdic – my own experience with John led me to believe him as trustworthy.

"In that case, you can inform him, perhaps convince him to include me as well. I'd rather like to read those texts on magic you have."

I nodded, relieved. "That's something I can do." I got up from my chair and pushed it in towards the table. "So let's go."

I didn't visit the castle often, not because it was far away – it was a few minutes' walk at most – but because there just wasn't much for me to do there. Mostly, I just went to talk with John or Robert or make sure Cuthbert wasn't in over his head. Last I saw, he was busy navigating the tumultuous world of teenage girls trying to court him, with Eva and Elfleda's dubious assistance.

Ah, right, I completely forgot to mention Eadric. He was gone when I came back from the draugr; presumably, since Cuthbert was still at court, Robert hadn't brought them along and so Eadric went back home.

Back to the present: after locking up the house and feeding Shadowfax, I trudged through the snow-filled streets towards the castle along with Eva and Elfleda, eyeing the few unlucky souls stuck patrolling the walls during winter with some pity. It wasn't even that necessary, really; the castle wasn't part of the walls that surrounded the town, and since Berkhamsted was a good distance away from any disputed territories and the coast, it wasn't like it needed to be guarded that heavily.

Rather than split off and meet John on my own, I figured that since this conversation concerned all of us, we might as well save time and just speak to John as a group. So, after some questioning to learn where he was, we all headed off to the castle library.

When I walked in, John looked up from the book he had been reading, and raised his eyebrows when he saw Eva and Elfleda follow me in. As I dragged a chair over to sit across from him, John slowly closed his book and put it aside before looking at all of us.

"Yes?" he asked.

"After some thought, I've decided that there is something you could help me with," I said. "I'd like you to teach Eva and Elfleda Latin."

John furrowed his brow slightly. "I can certainly do that, but may I ask why?"

"Eva is my apprentice in magic, and Elfleda is… huh." I glanced over my shoulder at her. "Actually I guess she's also my apprentice, technically."

John got a thoughtful look on his face and looked up at Elfleda. "Eva having magic explains a number of inconsistencies surrounding Harry, but you… I'm surprised by."

"Why?" Elfleda asked. "If Harry wasn't so obvious and public about it, what about him would mark him out as a wizard?"

"The temperature, for one," John replied.

Elfleda inclined her head in acknowledgment. "And beyond that? How would you know him, identify him? How would you identify someone subtler and weaker than him?"

"I suppose that is true. Regardless though, I'm surprised," John said. He looked at me. "Are you inducting them into your Fellowship?"

"I suppose, if that's the excuse we need to go with," I said.

"We don't need to go with any excuse. Outside of Robert I am not visited frequently and I greatly doubt anyone will deeply investigate why two young women spend time in a chapel." He briefly glanced past me at Elfleda with a hint of disapproval. "And if they do I am certain others can handle it. I'm merely curious."

I sat back and glanced over my shoulders at Elfleda and Eva. Something in me, the chivalric, chauvinistic side of me, rebelled at the notion of getting them anywhere close to danger. At the same time though, the Fellowship of Saint Giles was a complete fiction; there was no actual organization or pattern or system to it. It was just an excuse I came up with that I could half sell, and then I rolled the Jedi into it as well for my own amusement.

I could make the Fellowship anything I wanted, really, assuming I wanted to make it anything. And I didn't need to make it as an entire order of traveling hotheaded loners like me. What I would make of it I had no clue, but I guess I would figure that out in time.

"I hadn't been planning to, but if they want, sure, why not," I said.


	56. Chapter 4-IX

**March 1070**

The next meeting had been scheduled for the spring equinox, but for various reasons had been pushed back almost a week to near the end of March. That entire week, Eva spent all of her time either in the lab, reading books, or practicing Transfiguration on smaller bits and bobs. She'd been throwing herself wholeheartedly into the challenge I'd set her, practicing on different items and trying different methods of process-visualization, but she brought an entirely new level of focus to it during that last week.

Being a little concerned that she might overdo it, I told her that when she felt ready, she'd perform the Transfiguration in front of me, in my home, in case anything went wrong. The day before the meeting, she walked into my house with a look of determination, skipped lunch, settled her cloak on the table rather than hanging it by the entrance, and settled the block of wood atop the cloak.

I gave her points for not putting the block of wood she was trying to change in direct contact with my wooden table, and then both Elfleda and I settled back to watch.

First, Eva settled her fingers over and around the block of wood, touching every side of it. Second, she closed her eyes and steadily settled her breathing until it was rhythmic, calm, and barely audible. Presumably, she took the time to fix the image of what she wanted in her mind then as well, but I wasn't an empath or a telepath so I'm just guessing here. Third, she started pulling in magic and letting it flow out, into the wood. At that point, I leaned forward and opened my Sight, focusing on the block of wood.

Now, what she was doing was interesting. See, I would've thought that putting both hands to the object you were trying to change would be counterproductive. The left hand absorbed magic and the right hand emitted it, after all, so in my mind that should have led to some inefficiencies in this process. But Eva didn't just make it work, she seemed to make it an integral part of the process, forming a kind of magical circuit that washed away the qualities she didn't want while reusing some of the energy she'd already put in, getting the block used to being changed by magic. She let this cycle go on for about a minute until she'd made the block "pliable", for lack of a better term, and then she actually started working.

The outer layer of the block took on the sheen of copper, but rather than stop there and try to pass it off as done – which I would've seen through – she pushed the change further and further into the block, turning wood to copper at an accelerating rate. Then, once she was done turning it into copper, she didn't stop. Instead, she took her left hand off the now copper block and kept going, the block going from the reddish-orange sheen of copper to the grayish sheen of iron. This time the change was even faster, occurring in a matter of seconds rather than half a minute. Then, only once all the copper had changed to iron, did she let go of the block and pull back, breathing heavily.

While she caught her breath, I carefully picked up the block with my right hand, still gloved, and turned it over, peering through the magic that had seeped into the wood-turned-metal and making sure that she had indeed gotten everything. Once I was satisfied, I closed my Third Eye and put the block back down.

"Why did you change it from copper to iron?" I asked. I had some idea why, but I wanted to hear her explanation.

"Copper is associated with change, the flow of energy," Eva said in between breaths. "It seemed easier to turn wood into copper. But I wasn't sure the copper would stay that way for the entire three hours, so I needed something more permanent, like iron. So first I turned the wood into copper, then the copper into iron, rather than trying to go directly from wood to iron."

"And the hands?"

"I… just thought it would help, really. Leave as much magic that had been used to transform it into iron as possible in the block, to help encourage longevity and permanence," Eva replied.

I nodded, then moved both cloak and block over to the far end of the table. "Good. Now we give it three hours and see whether you've done it."

Given her obvious excitement, nervousness, and distraction, I figured it was a good time to practice more shielding. So, after an hour and a half of more flicks, followed by another hour and a half of more general theory and practice, I went back over to the block and once more turned my Sight upon it.

Even without looking at her, I could almost feel Eva's anticipation coming off of her. I even heard Elfleda snort in amusement as I inspected the block, which told me Eva must have been very tense right then.

After a full minute, I closed my Third Eye again and looked up at Eva. I engaged in a little schadenfreude and drew out the silence for a few seconds, before finally pronouncing my judgment, "Congratulations. You did it."

Eva let out an excited "Yes!" and then immediately, and very unsuccessfully, tried to compose herself, prompting Elfleda to snort again.

"Take tomorrow off," I said. "Do whatever, hang out. We're going to be leaving the day after. Can you handle convincing your brother to come along?"

"Oh, definitely," Eva said.

"She's been pestering him for most of the week," Elfleda added. "He's practically capitulated already."

"I was not pestering him," Eva replied with a frown.

"Enthusiastic encouragement, then."

"Well whatever the case may be, you've got the rest of today and tomorrow to prepare," I said. "Pack light. You'll want space for whatever we buy in London."

I spent the rest of the day brewing up a set of potions for the road in case anything untoward happened. Not that I expected anything to happen, but preparation is a vital virtue.

The next day, before noon, Helga, Rowena, and Salazar came back again. I'd changed the wards to recognize them, and so this time rather than switching from yellow to green to red as a proximity measure, my candle-flame turned blue. That gave me enough warning to lay out a quick spread of basic food – bread and stew – and finish a few seconds before they reached my door.

I let them in, sat them down, and we had brunch. Then we got started.

"Alright," Helga said once I'd cleared the table. "Rowena, if I'm remembering correctly, you did some testing with inserting the thaumaturgic detection we were planning to use into ley lines and have some ideas regarding how to make it work."

Rowena nodded.

"We'll leave that for last then as that's probably going to take the longest to explore and work through," Helga said before glancing at Salazar and me. "I don't know about you two though. Do either of you have a subject you think will require extensive discussion?"

"Not particularly," I said. Salazar just shook his head.

"Then I'll start," she said. "I was thinking about how to organize the school. Now, obviously we're going to have a pretty big divide between the talents that can reach the level of a wizard and a witch and those that can't, but I don't think it's a good idea to try and organize the school along that line. It's too…" Helga trailed off, searching for the right word. "Stratified. I don't want some students thinking they're better than others."

"That's going to happen regardless," Salazar pointed out.

"Well, yes, I suppose, but I don't want to encourage it," Helga said. "Part of the goal is to foster unity and understanding. And while at first we might only have a few students, if we're actually successful we're eventually going to have a lot of children to deal with. So, I'd like to make a system that can handle that right from the start."

Everyone nodded, and I motioned for her to go on.

"To that end, I came up with a kind of… House system, I think would be the right term," Helga said. "Splitting the students along lines that have nothing to do with magic and then having each of us look after a group, eventually delegating responsibility to people we trust as we get more students."

"How would you split them?" I asked, already having some idea.

"I was thinking by personality, so we'd find it easier to deal with our own Houses. Ravenclaw would be easiest with studiousness." Helga paused briefly, but Rowena didn't dispute that. "And Dresden with… uh…"

"Suicidal insanity?" Salazar suggested dryly.

I eadriced in his direction.

"I wouldn't put it like that. More like… bravery," Helga said.

"Suicidal insanity," Salazar repeated. "Added atop foolhardiness."

"Then I guess we can assign cynicism and stellar diplomatic skills to Slytherin," I replied.

Salazar eadriced in my direction.

"And Hufflepuff?" Rowena asked, diffusing the tension. Somewhat. A little.

Helga sighed. "I'm torn between determination and sanity."

I let out a muffled chuckle. "Heh."

"I'm serious. I seem to be the only normal one here," Helga insisted.

"I'm not denying that," I said. "It's still funny though."

Helga huffed.

"There's one issue that I can see with your idea, at least right away," I went on. "If you're splitting by personality, you're going to encourage… focusing on that trait. Extra brave, extra studious, extra acerbic, so on. You'd split the student body in a different way. I like the idea in principle, I'm just not sure personality's the way to go about implementing it."

"Though it pains me to say so, he has a point," Salazar said.

"Then what would you split it by?" Helga asked.

"Interests," Salazar said.

I grimaced, got a foul taste in my mouth, and said, "Yeah, that. With a bit of a twist. For the first… however long, six months, a year, two, whatever we decide, I'd say we split responsibility by gender. Salazar and I look after the men and boys, you look after the women and girls. Then, once they've had some time to learn and explore their strengths and weaknesses, we can sort them by their interests. So, the people that want to focus mostly on their magic and exploring that go to Ravenclaw, stuff like that."

Helga hummed in consideration. "Well, that kind of works. Dresden can fit the people willing to go out and monster hunt, but what about the other two?"

"Hufflepuff could represent those interested in unity and community. The less… extreme members," Salazar said. "Slytherin… I would have to consider. And must we use our names?"

"It's simple and descriptive," Helga began.

"Not really," I interjected.

"And as the people making the school it's our right," Helga continued, completely ignoring me. "Don't you want to be remembered?"

"I don't especially feel the need to, no, not by putting my name to an ephemeral institution," Salazar replied.

Helga pouted and made sad eyes at Salazar. Not puppy-dog eyes, but more like sad, pleading pig eyes. It's not easy to describe, especially for those who haven't dealt with farm animals, so just imagine puppy-dog eyes instead.

It was bizarrely effective.

"I… ugh, fine," Salazar capitulated.

"Great!" Helga practically chirped. "I'm fine with the idea, though it needs a little more work. Rowena?"

"I have no objections," Rowena said.

"I thought you'd at least sort of defend yourself," Helga said.

Rowena frowned. "But I am a studious recluse. Why would I dispute that?"

Helga let out an aggrieved sigh. "Fine. Whatever. That's it for me. Salazar, Harry?"

I ceded the floor, or rather the table, to Salazar and crossed my arms.

"Fundamentally, the main hurdle we are facing with the Council, particularly the Senior Council, is a lack of trust," Salazar began. "They don't believe that Helga's intentions are entirely benign, and none of us have the connections to simply persuade them. Now, I have associates, but those that are close to the Senior Council are not especially close to me, and vice versa, so that is not a viable solution either. Somehow, we must convince the Senior Council that supporting and promoting Hogwarts will not threaten their position and instead support it, and failing that we must find some way to put them in our debt or gain favor in their eyes."

"And do you have an idea as to how to do that?" Helga asked.

"I have ideas, but no firm plans. Establishing the school not in England or Scotland but rather on the mainland, closer to Constantinople, would be one way to help alleviate their concerns, by putting ourselves closer to their circle of influence, but it's not an especially viable option for a variety of reasons. A smaller concentration of ley lines, a lack of linguistic understanding, a lack of familiarity, a lack of connections. If we could find a direct Way from Edinburgh or the Hidden Halls or wherever we established our school to Constantinople, that would also help, but none of us are explorers of the Ways, and charted paths would require almost a day's journeying to reach the Hidden Halls. Not a simple route to take."

I felt the weight of my pentacle amulet against my chest, and considered whether it knew of such a way. In my time, the Hidden Halls had been the White Council's base of operations, its essential capitol. And Mom had been very… radical, and not appreciated by the Council – or the Wardens. I suspect I could count the number of times she visited the Hidden Halls on one hand and have fingers left over. But, on the other hand, Mom "could be in Beijing at breakfast, Rome at lunch, and Seattle for supper and stop for coffee in Sydney and Capetown in between."

For reference, Seattle was on the northwest coast of the Americas, the giant continent to the west of Eurasia, and east I guess, Sydney was on the southwest coast of Australia, the island continent south of China, and Capetown was near the south tip of Africa. In my time, of course. Right now all the latter places didn't exist.

It wasn't out of the possibility that Mom had found a Way that ran nearby, and if there was one Way that may still be the same even nine centuries in the past, it would be one between the Hidden Halls, one place associated with the White Council, and Constantinople, another place associated with the White Council.

I stretched and then scratched at my chest, flipping my pentacle amulet around in the process so the gem was pressing into my chest. I posed a few questions to the ruby, then hummed thoughtfully. "I think there might be a Way from the Hidden Halls to Constantinople. Might. If the paths haven't shifted over the centuries."

Helga glanced at me. "How do you know?" she asked.

"My mother explored the Ways, and she passed that knowledge on to me. But that was a while ago. I know some of it is outdated knowledge that's now more dangerous than useful, I just don't know how much," I said. "The Way itself, if it's still the same, isn't too difficult to traverse. It's short enough I'd be willing to try it. But if it isn't the same…" I trailed off and shrugged. "That, I'm not so willing to risk."

I didn't feel like revealing the truth of my mother's ruby. It was selfish, undeniably, but that was my heirloom. I wanted to keep it a secret, to keep it mine, no matter how much now-useless knowledge it could contain.

My colleagues didn't need to know about it.

"Does the Way pass through Summer or Winter?" Salazar asked.

"From what I can remember, it kind of crisscrosses," I said, referencing the ruby again. "Starting from the Hidden Halls you take a short trip through Winter, come out in the Black Forest, go to the edge, go back into the Nevernever, go down the hill of the island you appear on until you reach the shore, then leave, and that should lead you to Constantinople."

"Could you be more specific?"

"I could try. Why?" I asked.

"Bartering Ways out of a Faerie is like pulling teeth from a wolf," Salazar said. "It's simpler and cheaper to have them confirm the existence of a Way. Relatively, at least."

"I'll see what I can remember, then," I said.

"Do so." Salazar turned to face Helga. "But even that is not a true solution, just some… grease on the wheels. We would need to prepare and codify a proposal, accept oversight, make compromises, perform tasks for the Council. It will be a matter of steadily gaining their trust, a matter complicated by Harry's handling of Malfoy."

"And yours," Helga said. "You called him 'acceptably competent' to King William's face."

"Because Malfoy was clearly not up to the task of dealing with genuine threats. As a sort of menial servant however, he is perfect."

Helga let out another aggrieved sigh and rubbed her temples. "Is there anything you can actually suggest? Anything helpful?"

"Consider who on the Senior Council is most sympathetic to your arguments and proposals. Approach them, explain the miscommunication and misunderstanding, and ask how you can clarify the benefits of your proposal," Salazar said.

"I don't know if any of the Senior Council like me that much," she said.

"Then correct that. Spend a month in Constantinople, if not more. Appear invested in their dealings, see who you share interests with. If so far you have only been visiting Constantinople to present your arguments with only some variation on those arguments, it's no wonder you haven't been making progress."

"Can't you help me with that?"

Salazar steepled his fingers. "I can provide some support, but this is ultimately your project, your vision. You need to learn how to acquire and maintain support for it yourself."

Helga sighed. "Fine, fine. But can you offer any firm suggestions for what we can _do_?"

Salazar shrugged. "No, because I don't know what the Senior Council might want in particular. We're not at war and there are no urgent needs. That leaves personal projects and desires."

"Then… I'll keep that in mind the next time I go to Constantinople," she said. "Is that it?"

"Essentially." Salazar glanced my way. "If Harry were less… confrontational, and more well regarded, he could've made for a better advocate, but as it is."

"Yeah, yeah, the Council doesn't like me," I drawled. I almost added "what else is new?" but stopped myself just in time. "I get it."

"Do you? A not insignificant portion of the discontent is related to you. Your refusal to go to Constantinople, your circumvention of their authority by having Helga and Rowena test you, your connection to the Winter Court. It is not a case of simple dislike, but active wariness."

I sighed. "Well I can't really do anything about that now can I?"

"Not now, certainly. You've poisoned the well as it is," Salazar said.

"Unless you're leading into a way to fix that, I'm going to stop this discussion. Are you?" Helga asked Salazar.

"No," he said.

"Then that's it," she said firmly. "What's done is done and we have to just keep moving forward." She turned to face me. "Harry, your idea?"

"I think I have a way to sell the notion of the school to the nobles, our biggest issue when it comes to gaining legitimacy and acceptance," I said.

"Not the king?" Helga asked curiously.

"Well, him too, but… I'm not sure I like him, really. He rubs me the wrong way. I don't really feel like making him an offer directly. Getting all the nobles under him interested seems like a method that's just as effective."

"Mmm… I agree," Helga said.

"Really?" I asked, a little surprised.

"Yes. The king was charming at first, but he's… brutal. Pointlessly so, almost. It's one thing to put down rebellions harshly, I could maybe stomach that, but…" She scowled. "I've spent the last four months in his company, and I don't care to return. He ravaged the north of his own kingdom and condemned thousands to starvation just to drive off raiders."

I frowned. "What?"

"From what I understand the Saxon… royalists, loyalists, resistance, whatever you want to call them, centered around Edgar Etheling," there should be an AE symbol there on the Etheling but again, not writing that, "were skirmishing around the border with Scotland. William couldn't bring them to battle so instead of dealing with them he just… destroyed the north to deny supplies to the rebels, force them to starve or retreat back into Scotland."

"An effective, if distasteful, military stratagem," Salazar said.

"He slaughtered villages and burned food stores," Helga snarled. "He murdered thousands and left thousands more to starve in winter!"

Salazar reeled back from her, surprised. So was I; before then, I hadn't seen Helga get angry.

"Have you ever had to go without food, Salazar? It's like a gnawing void eating at you, consuming who you are. It's bad enough in summer, when you can try and supplement it with berries and mushrooms and small game. In winter? I saw people _eating each other_!" She took a deep breath and practically glared at him. "So no, I'm not particularly well disposed to him or interested in indulging his desire for control." She stood up and shook her head. "I need to go clear my head. Harry, your wards, please?"

"I didn't put them back up."

"Oh. Good. I'll be outside then." She swept out of the room, muttering under her breath. I heard the front door slam open and closed a few seconds later.

Silence rained for a good fifteen seconds. I glanced at Rowena, who looked over to where the entrance to my house was. A few moments later, she sighed and nodded at me.

"I'm going to go after her," I said. "Please don't leave this room."

Without waiting for a response, I got up and followed Helga. I found her pacing just outside my house, working grooves into the thawing ground. Her head snapped up when I opened the door and she almost yelled, then caught herself when she saw me.

"I'm fine," she said.

I looked down at her. "Really?" I asked.

"Alright, no, I'm not fine," she snapped. "Part of me is regretting saving the king now and not, as you said to Ursiel, letting him die and starting over with one of his sons. I know it's a stupid thought because there would have been a massive war and even more people would have died, but I can't move past the, the, the pointless barbarism of it all. I mean, what are we even doing, really? What's the point of putting weeks and months of effort into a project no one seems to appreciate while people are being murdered and reduced to savagery?" She took a deep breath and shook her head, still pacing. "God, I just… I get, to some extent, why Salazar's disdainful. I don't like it, I don't agree with it, but I get it."

I frowned. "You do?"

She looked up at me, sighed, and slowed her pacing. "I don't know if I should tell you this, it's a… a personal secret and…" She sighed again and ran a hand through her short-cropped hair. "Ugh. Fine. We interrogated you about all of your secrets, and I doubt Salazar will ever tell you himself and maybe this is me being a little spiteful but I think you deserve to know." She took a deep breath. "I don't know much. He didn't tell me much. But he used to be married, years or decades ago, I don't know exactly, he never talked about that."

"What happened?"

"One of his enemies, he thinks it's a faerie, decided to strike at him. But not directly. His wife was… a minor practitioner I believe, or a sorceress, I'm not sure which but definitely not a witch." She furrowed her brow in thought. "She was visiting her family in… Castilla? I think that's how he pronounced it. And this supposed faerie stirred up a witch hunt against his wife and her family and the villagers burned her family's house down, with everyone inside."

"Oh," I said quietly.

"When he found out… well, he didn't tell me that part. But now that I know he has a basilisk I think I can guess." She shook her head. "Anyway, he uh… hasn't taken it well, as you can see. Not that I blame him for that. I don't think he exactly hates peasants, but I don't think he cares, really. Or maybe he does hate them, I don't know." She sighed.

I didn't really have anything to say to that. Sure, I could disapprove of Salazar probably siccing his basilisk on a bunch of manipulated people and killing them all, and I did, but… I started a fucking war over the woman I loved. I could understand where he was coming from.

"Hogwarts is a good idea," I said. I didn't like saying that name, but I forced it out anyway. "It's worth pursuing. It's a way we can empower the people, protect them, spread our ideals. I don't know if we could ever stop war completely, but we can change how people approach it, how people weather it. If we had a network and support system, we could have helped those people in the north. If there were sympathetic nobles in William's court, they could've held him back. Those are kind of weak examples, but it's the idea behind them we're building towards. Cooperation, understanding, progress."

Helga let out a long sigh. "I suppose," she said. She kicked some melting snow around with her boot. "Alright. Uhm… what's that word you say, okay?"

I nodded.

"Okay. I think I've calmed down. Let's go back inside."

I nodded and opened a door for her. She lightly kicked her feet against the other, knocking the snow off her boots, and headed inside, hanging her cloak back up on the hanger. I did the same, and a few moments later we reentered the main room.

"Helga, I–"

"No, just… not now, Salazar," she said, shaking her head and taking a seat. "Where were we, Harry?"

"I think we need to think beyond just teaching magic," I said. "Just to take my own apprentice as an example, I'm teaching her how to read and write, how to do math, natural philosophy, actual philosophy. But none of those have anything to do with magic, they're just things wizards do and know. So that's my proposal: open the school to everyone, not just those with magic. We could potentially keep the actual magic lessons secret, just for those with magic, but everyone could benefit from the rest of the curriculum. And even if nobles aren't personally interested in learning to read and write and count, there's still a significant administrative benefit to having people that can do all of those things. It's just easier to keep track of lands, taxes, trade, businesses, everything if you have learned scribes. And we'll be producing people with those skills, one way or the other."

Salazar made a sour face at my proposal, but didn't say anything in response, just glancing quickly at Helga, who looked thoughtful.

"We'd need a lot more teachers, wouldn't we?" Helga asked. "If we were opening our doors to that many students. The four of us couldn't handle it."

"We were going to have to recruit more people at some point," I said. "If the school is even a quarter as successful as we hope, we're going to have a hundred students, if not more. It's going to be impractical to look after them _and_ handle all the political aspects _and_ the administrative and logistical aspects."

"That's true," Helga admitted. "But that would make it harder for us to get started. We'd need more people involved right from the start."

"Then find those people," I said. "Salazar suggested working with the Senior Council, but you don't have to limit yourselves to just them. Make friends with others on the Council in general. See who'd be willing to help. If you manage to convince a significant portion of the Council itself, that consensus agreement will put pressure on the Senior Council to go along with the project. And it keeps this project from being regarded as an insular, backwards, English thing."

"Alright. Say we manage that, just for the sake of argument," Helga said. "How do we handle the nobility here, skipping past the king?"

"That's a good question," I said. "You've met Robert, the lord who rules this town. I think he likes me, especially after York. He also listens to his personal chaplain, and I have a good relationship with him too. I have either a good or working relationship with basically all of his court, actually. And he's a major landholder. So I can start with him, gauge his interest, get him to start asking his vassals about it. Then, maybe I can go from him to his brother Odo, who as I understand it is basically the regent of England when William isn't around. He's also a bishop. I'm not really sure how that works, but maybe you or I could swing him. And if we can't, we can just branch out, help local lords, build goodwill, and sell them on the benefits of working with us."

Maybe I could get Elfleda involved somehow. I felt like she'd enjoy the challenge.

"We'll have to work on the details, but I like the sound of that," Helga said. "All in favor?"

Rowena nodded, and after a few seconds, Salazar grudgingly did the same.

"Great. That just leaves Rowena. What did you find out?" Helga asked.

"While it's possible to insert and propagate a spell matrix through a ley line, there's a commensurate loss of precision with distance, which means we would need to focus on a simple, robust matrix to ensure it captured the entire island. I have a few ideas towards that end..."


	57. Chapter 4-X

**March 1070**

Hashing out a variety of different matrices for Rowena to test took us well into the evening, with a little break for supper. Dinner. Whatever. Then, during the break, I wrote down what I "remembered" of the Way from the Hidden Halls to Constantinople for Salazar to check out.

Once things wound down, Helga and Salazar both left – separately – and I was expecting Rowena to do the same, go out and look for an inn to stay in. Instead she asked, "Do you have anywhere I could sleep?"

That made me pause for a moment, then consider my own hypocrisy. I mean, I'd already spent a night in her tower, this wasn't that different.

"I have a guest bedroom, since I had the space for it. It's got a bed, and furs, and that's it. Might also be dusty, I only go in there once every two weeks."

"That's sufficient, thank you. Will we be leaving tomorrow?" she asked.

"Yeah. Once I get a horse for you and meet up with everyone from the castle," I said.

Rowena cocked her head slightly. "We won't be going alone?"

"I promised my apprentice she could come along if she passed a test, which she did, and I asked her to bring her brother and some guards along so it doesn't look like I'm just running off with her."

"Ah. Yes, I suppose that would be a concern for you." She paused for a moment, then asked, "Do we have go by horse?"

I frowned slightly. "I mean, we don't need to, but it's much faster. Why?"

"I… can't recall the last time I rode a horse. I must have, at some point, but that would have been… shortly before or after I came into my power," she said.

"So I need to get a docile horse, then," I said. "I'll keep that in mind."

Rowena looked apprehensive, but she slowly nodded. "If you're sure," she said uncertainly. "Good night." She paused again. "Where is your guest bedroom?"

"Up the stairs and turn around. Door's unlocked. Door on the left is a bathroom I'm still trying to set up," I said. "Speaking of which, if you have a bath or bathroom in your tower, how did you handle the water supply?"

"My… hmm. How can I put it…"

"You can't say?" I asked, arching an eyebrow. "It just happens."

"Yes, I think that's the safest way to put it," she replied.

So she had brownies do it. Huh. Hadn't considered that.

"I assume the water is sourced from the local river," she added.

"Well… thanks," I said.

"I could… hmm, no, I couldn't negotiate for you, but I could… I might be able to arrange a meeting," she said. "To facilitate whatever housekeeping you need."

"I'll think about it, thank you," I said.

She nodded, then turned around. A few seconds later, she asked, "And where are the stairs?"

"Why don't I just show you where to go," I said.

Once that was done with, I went back downstairs to clean the dishes, then headed off to bed myself. Alone, before anyone wonders.

Morning involved a quick breakfast and the discovery that Rowena got up even earlier than I did. After we ate, I packed my usual traveling supplies, with a lot less food than usual considering London was a day's ride away, and after locking down my house we went to go rent a horse for Rowena. I'd been on good terms with the local horse trader since last September. A few thieves had managed to snag some of his horses, and by the time the owner realized what had happened the thieves were gone. Tracking the horse thieves down had been a bit of a chore and somewhat of a race, but they'd surrendered their stolen horses very quickly when their attempt to stick knives and other implements in me all bounced against my shield.

Rowena once again walked around with her SEP-veil, which was interesting because I don't think something like that is easy to project for someone that isn't a natural mind mage. I guess she really likes her solitude.

Eva, Cuthbert, and the trio of guards split off from Eadric's fyrd were waiting in the courtyard by the time I got to the castle. Rowena preempted me and extended her veil to cover them all before we really approached, so we had to deal with only a minimum of "who is this strange woman that I just realized was right next to me?"

Eva, though, furrowed her brow and frowned slightly as she looked between Rowena and me.

Cuthbert didn't like me very much, I could tell that much. I wasn't sure if it was because I was supposed to be looking after him, because his sister spent a lot of time around me, if he shared Eadric's general dislike of me, or a combination of the above, but he didn't really say much to me, or Rowena for that matter. When he asked her who she was though, he seemed pleasantly surprised at her accent, and treated her politely.

That was good enough for me.

Eva or Cuthbert or someone else had secured horses for the guards, so the seven of us rode out through the south gate. We didn't really talk about much on the ride over, except for, well, the alliteration.

After Rowena finally got used to the motions involved in riding a horse, she stopped holding the reins in a death grip and reached into her robes to pull out a small notebook.

"I have more ideas, Harry," she said.

"Oh please no," I groaned, already knowing what she was going to ask.

"You've declined place names and derivatives, so I think we need to settle on a descriptive name, one that captures some of your key qualities."

"My name is Harry Dresden. It doesn't need changing," I said.

"It's not alliterative!" Rowena cried.

"What isn't?" Eva asked.

"His name," Rowena replied. "Everyone else in our group happens to have an alliterative pair of names, but not only does Harry not have that, he also has… well, that second isn't relevant I suppose."

"Alliterative pair… like Rowena R, Helga H, and Salazar S?" Eva asked.

Rowena nodded and looked intently at me. After a few seconds of this, I sighed and said, "Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin. And I don't need a new last name."

"You break the symmetry," Rowena said. "Now Dresden sounds Germanic in origin, so I'll start there. Hardwin or Hartwin, a combination of hard and win for 'brave or hardy friend.'"

"Do we really need to do this?" I asked.

"Yes," Rowena said bluntly.

"No," I replied.

"I… win is friend, right?" Eva asked.

"Eva, no," I warned.

"It is, yes," Rowena replied, ignoring me.

"I don't know if that works, then. Generally, I mean," Eva said.

"Mmm, I see your point."

I groaned and looked back over my shoulder, seeking some level of solidarity and sympathy in Cuthbert. He looked back at me, confused, and shrugged.

"If we keep the first part, hart, we can put mann on the end for 'brave or hardy man'," Rowena suggested.

"Then that's too general."

"Uggggghhhhhh," I groaned, then added in Sumerian. "God please save me."

"Hmm… Heidrich, heid and ric, for 'kind and mighty'?"

"Doesn't ric also mean 'ruler'?"

"Yes, it does," Rowena said. "How do you know that?"

"Elfleda taught me," Eva said. "We sometimes talk about languages and names."

"Ah, interesting. So is that a no?"

"It could be misinterpreted…"

I don't even know why I'm transcribing this. Which I guess means I may as well stop.

I think they eventually settled on 'Hunfrid', or 'peaceful warrior', which I admit isn't a bad option, but I like Dresden and I'm not changing it for anything.

And yes. That went on for _hours_. Which only reinforced my decision to not bring Elfleda, honestly; it could only have gotten worse if she'd come along.

I was relieved when we finally reached London, even if the time meant we immediately had to go look for an inn to stay in, which took a while. By the time we found a place to stay, twilight had passed and night had fallen. We had a slightly early supper, dinner, whatever, and Eva turned in early in anticipation of a long day of shopping. She nagged her brother into doing the same, while the guards decided to engage in some light drinking.

That left me and Rowena sitting alone at a table, and with the way she veiled the both of us, she clearly wanted to talk.

"Can you finally explain the 'somewhat' answer you gave me back in York? About being a Denarian?" she asked.

I sighed and crossed my arms. "Yes. There's… a progression to being a Denarian, a sliding scale. Kind of. You start by touching a Coin. In my case I did it somewhat unwittingly. Someone threw a Coin right in front of my friend's son, a toddler, and I reached for it before he could. Once you make that choice, knowingly or not, that gives a Fallen a window, a way to influence you. I immediately went home and buried the coin six feet in the ground under layers of wards, but that wasn't quite enough. This was because, in the moment of contact, the Fallen essentially duplicated itself and split off a lesser copy of itself, a mental shadow. It's that copy, that shadow, that I interacted with. I never took up the Coin itself."

"So what happened to the shadow? Is it still in your head?" she asked.

I shook my head. "No, she… sacrificed herself for me, blocking a mental assault."

Rowena blinked. "A copy of a Fallen angel… sacrificed itself for you," she said slowly.

"She," I insisted.

"Alright, she," Rowena said. "I find that hard to believe."

"I'm not surprised. But we should differentiate between the Fallen and the shadow. The Fallen, I think, can't meaningfully change like that. You could, I guess, develop some kind of twisted facsimile of symbiosis with one, but if they were willing to be selfless like that then they wouldn't be Fallen. The shadow, though, isn't part of the Fallen once it's formed. It exists in your head, as part of your brain. And since the human mind is malleable that meant the shadow was too."

"And so… she's gone, leaving you with what she taught you," Rowena said.

"Sort of, and not really," I said. "I never really engaged her for knowledge. Not much of it, anyway. The only thing I really learned from her was a pain suppression technique. What I used her for was… memorization. She could remember everything I'd seen or heard in perfect detail and play it back to me, point out things I'd missed or overlooked, that kind of thing."

"So then you don't know that much," Rowena said, sounding supremely disappointed. Then she frowned. "But you know how to perform alchemical transmutation. Which… I thought you learned that from the shadow, but I suppose that means you knew it already? Or learned it afterwards?"

"No, that… when she died, I thought that meant she was gone, completely. Eradicated. But… now I'm not sure. I started getting these recurring headaches within months of her death, and now that I've actually looked back over my life I can tell they were intensifying somewhat. Then… did "Helga tell you about Avalon?"

"Yes, she did. She also said you did not know how you got there, which I find curious. But how is it related?"

"I'm not entirely sure. But after my escape from there, the headaches were different. They were still present, if less intense, but it was no longer just the headaches on their own. I could remember things, things I hadn't learned, things I hadn't done. I figure they're bits and pieces of her memories."

"So what you're saying is you have all the knowledge of an angel locked inside your head," Rowena said, sitting up very straight.

"I don't know about all. And it's not always safe to access. It's like… it's like a mirror broke into a million of shards of glass. And if I want to reach in and take out a particular shard, I have to get cut along the way. Only in this case, it's headaches and migraines and possibly aneurysms. Which isn't ideal."

Rowena made a frustrated _hmph_. "Do you still have recurring headaches?"

I nodded. "They've been getting steadily more intense, I think, as I've dug into more. Sort of like scar tissue building up, I guess."

"Which means there's a limited amount of information you could retrieve before dying." Rowena sighed. "That's _annoying_." She took a deep breath, huffed, and folded her hands together. "So the ideal solution would be to reorganize and reassemble that part of your mind."

"Uh… I guess so," I said. "I'm hesitant about letting anyone into my head though."

"Why?" Rowena asked, blinking. "You have a treasure trove in excess of any dragon's hoard locked inside your head."

"People have messed with my head way too much over the years," I said. "And your enthusiasm's off-putting, no offense."

Rowena pouted. "Fine. But you need to treat the headaches somehow, at least."

"I suppose," I said slowly.

She sighed. "Well I haven't practiced mind magic beyond the accepted range of suggestions and mental veils, but you could teach me how to do it, couldn't you?"

"I could try, but I could also kill myself in the process of digging out all the psychomancy I would need to pass on," I said. "I'd rather save that for an absolute last resort."

"Ugh," Rowena groaned. "Alright. I could… I could start practicing on animals. It wouldn't be an ideal match, but it would be a start. Or I could look into how to heal that kind of damage. Or… no, no, that's too risky."

"What?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Never mind. It's dangerous and not important." She sighed. "This is really frustrating. All that knowledge and just… ugh!"

"Yeah," I said, leaning back from her slightly.

I mean, I got it. If Lash's memories were mostly intact and I could actually get to them, that represented an obscene amount of magical knowledge practically unknown to wizards or humankind. It was the kind of knowledge that made two-bit sorcerers like Quintus Cassius into major threats. And it was all right there, in my head, past the barrier of a possible aneurysm.

But Rowena didn't need to be so creepily enthusiastic about cutting into my head.

"Can I ask you something?" I asked.

"Of course," she replied.

"You have journals from the time of Camelot, right?"

"Mmhmm."

"Are they Merlin's journals?" I asked.

"No," she said. "Someone else inherited them, to my knowledge. I'm not sure who."

Interesting choice of words, but they only made sense to me later. In the moment, I was just relieved that there was zero chance of me somehow ending up my own great-great-grandfather or something like that.

"Okay, well, you use the Ways sometimes, right?"

"Sometimes," Rowena confirmed.

"Have you ever run into a haphazard mix of roads and buildings and fortifications?" I asked. "I went through a region like that on my way to York. When I was intercepted by the Leanansidhe, she called it a graveyard. Does it have anything to do with Camelot or Merlin? It's definitely not natural."

"Ah, yes. That region has a few names, I believe the most common is the City. And you're right, it is related to Merlin. Specifically, he made it."

"Why?" I asked.

"To facilitate travel throughout the Kingdom of Britain. Not for Merlin or his apprentices or King Arthur or his Knights, but for Arthur's soldiers, his army."

I furrowed my brow. "Wait, what?"

"Arthur wanted a way to move his troops around his kingdom quickly, in response to foreign invaders, and also to expand his lands. The idea was to maintain a small, well-equipped, elite force of men that could cross the kingdom in a day and respond as necessary, freeing up the people to keep farming and trading and so on. And thus Merlin made the City. Or, if we use its actual name, Camlann."

I frowned. "Isn't that where Arthur and Mordred fought and died? I thought that was in the actual England outside the Nevernever, here in the south somewhere?"

"It was a mix. Arthur responded to Mordred's rebellion through Camlann, but was surprised by the force Mordred had mustered. They fought in… Camblana, somewhere along the River Camel, which I suspect is responsible for part of the confusion. They fought, Arthur started retreating, and Mordred pursued. Then they died."

"Huh." I leaned back in my seat. "How do you know all this? How did you get the journals of… I guess one of the Knights? Are you descended from one of them?"

"No, I am not," she said. She fell silent for a few moments. Then she furrowed her brow, and slowly said, "I'm the great-at-least-five-times-over granddaughter of Morgana LeFay."

It was my turn to blink. "I… really," I said.

"Well, I think," she said. "I'm certain I'm the descendant of Morgana through her daughter's son, but regarding the actual line of inheritance, I'm just guessing. I believe it's through my great-great-grandfather Algar Ravenclaw, but it could've come in later, perhaps even as recently as my mother. What I am confident about is that Morgana's magical lineage faded at some point before me, which is why I inherited her journals. She made some arrangement that would pass them on to her heir, and I ended up the beneficiary of that arrangement."

I blinked a few more times. "I… don't know how to respond to that," I said.

Rowena shrugged. "Neither do I, really."

"Does anyone else know? Like your master?" I asked.

"I taught myself using the journals," she replied. "Eventually I did encounter the Council and was accepted as a member, but I've only been to Constantinople once, to be tested and receive my stole. After that, no one really bothered me until Helga."

"And she doesn't know," I said.

"It was never relevant." Rowena cocked her head. "Though, I am considering telling her now, just to see the look upon her face."

* * *

Author's Note: I would like to state for the record that since Arthurian Mythology is basically a bunch of fanfiction anyway, I don't find any issue in making things even more convoluted.


	58. Chapter 4-XI

**March 1070**

The next day, I was expecting the shopping split to be me-Rowena-Eva, and Cuthbert-and-the-guards, or just Cuthbert and the guards getting time off. So did Cuthbert, by the looks of it. Except what it really ended up being was me-Rowena-Eva-Cuthbert and the guards getting time off, because Eva practically bullied her brother into coming along on the magical shopping trip.

Oh, I'm sorry, let me correct that to, "leaned on her beloved younger sister status."

So there the four of us were, Cuthbert seemingly relegated to porter, and after he arranged things with his guards to give them a day off in London, we all went off to the City of London.

Not London itself, no, though you can be forgiven for thinking that. See, apparently there's the _City_ of London, the old, original Roman fort and settlement ringed by the London Wall, and then just London, which was everything beyond that. Not that there was much beyond the London Walls and the City of London, but it's important to make that distinction.

We were traveling in a one-two-one line, Rowena followed by the siblings followed by me. The streets weren't very busy and were rather wide besides, so we weren't cramped.

"What's this district we're going to called, anyway?" I asked.

"Diagon Alley," Rowena replied.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. "Nice. What, is there a Knockturn Alley and a Horizon Alley too?"

Rowena glanced back at me with furrowed brow. "Why would… oh. I see. No, there isn't. I'm not sure who originated the new name, but I know it's not the original one given by the Romans: it doesn't make sense in Latin. Initially, a group of… mystically inclined individuals came along with the Romans to found Londinium, and established the district. Then, when Londinium was abandoned, that district was abandoned as well. When it was reoccupied by the Saxons, the district was put back into use. I assume it was named Diagon Alley then, because it runs the length of a paved diagonal street."

"And everyone just decided to go with the pun, huh," I said.

"So it seems. Oh, uhm… Cuthbert, yes?"

"Are you asking for my name?" the teenager asked.

"Yes, sorry," Rowena said.

"That is my name, yes."

"Minor suggestion wards were placed at the various entrances of the Alley. As we approach, you might feel the desire to move away or take a different path. Just ignore it and keep walking with us."

"Is that something we'll have to worry about?" I asked.

"No, the wards are weak enough that even a minor amount of magic will let you resist them. Which… does Cuthbert have any?" she asked.

"I didn't sense any six months ago when I checked him," I said. "Though maybe something changed." I pulled off my right glove briefly, my hand and arm having almost healed at this point, and held it out to Cuthbert. "Give me your hand for a moment."

Cuthbert, somewhat grudgingly, turned to the side as he walked and awkwardly took my hand.

"No, nothing," I said, pulling my hand back and putting the glove back on.

"That is bizarre," Rowena said. "I could understand if the ages were reversed, but he– I'm sorry, you should have at least some potential."

"Why?" Cuthbert asked warily.

"Magic is typically inherited along bloodlines," Rowena explained. "It can skip generations and fade and vary in strength, but it's… well, essentially unheard of for someone with Eva's potential to just appear from an otherwise non-magical family."

"Are you suggesting my mother was unfaithful?" he asked. He didn't say it in a hostile tone, but there was definitely an edge of warning there.

Rowena blinked. "Oh, well– " She cut herself off as I shot her a very serious look. "No. It's just curious."

I was curious too, but I hadn't asked flat out like that precisely because of Cuthbert's reaction. Eva's talent was definitely weird, but it did happen, sometimes. I mean, between Thomas and me, I inherited Mom's magic and he didn't. I don't know whether that's because he was a vampire and the Hunger just ate it all when it woke up, or whether he just didn't get any in the first place, but it could happen.

But Cuthbert was a hundred percent human, from what I could tell. He should've had at least some potential, even just a minor spark, _something_. But he didn't.

It was weird.

The first sign I had that we were getting close was when Cuthbert started looking around and getting restless. A tight grip from Eva kept him with us though, and a few moments later we moved past the boundaries of whatever wards had been set up and he immediately refocused.

Diagon Alley looked, well, rustic. A disorganized mix of wood and stone buildings that framed both sides of a cobbled road maybe three hundred feet long at most, with every establishment brandishing a sign that was written in both Ye Olde English and Ye Older Latin. Two of the signs even had newer-looking addendums at the bottom in Ye Norman French. No one was out in the Alley right now besides us, which I took as a sign that this wasn't much of a recreational district.

"You're here to buy an owl?" Rowena asked.

"Among other things, yeah," I said.

"Then you want that building," Rowena said, pointing to one in the middle of the street.

I squinted, skipped past the Latin, and read off, "Maria's Majestic Magical Menagerie." Then I looked at the shop-front. "Looks more tiny than majestic."

"I believe there is somewhat of a running joke or conspiracy among the shop owners here to grandly exaggerate their shops," Rowena said. "And a few are also larger on the inside. Like the bookstore." She pointed again, this time to a shop titled, "Trevor's Tremendous Tomes."

"Is this where your alliteration obsession started?" I asked.

"It is not an obsession," Rowena huffed. "In any case, I'll be in there. Come find me when you're done."

I almost asked, "what if you finish shopping first?" Almost. Then I realized it was a stupid question.

"Alright. See you later."

Rowena nodded and entered the Tremendous Tomes, and then was never seen again.

Well, not really, but you get the idea.

"Harry?" Eva asked as Rowena disappeared.

I looked down at my apprentice, who had turned around to face me. "Yes?"

"Are you… being unfaithful?"

I gave her a long look. "No. First, Elfleda and I are not really involved."

"Uh-_huh_."

I eadriced in her direction. She was getting a bit too snarky lately. "Second, Rowena's a colleague and a friend. That's it."

"That you didn't tell her about," Eva said.

"Do you want an owl or not?" I asked in irritation.

Eva didn't bend. "You should have told her."

"I don't see why… whatever," I said, shaking my head. "Let's go buy an owl."

I ushered the kids ahead of me into the Menagerie. I felt a tiny surge of magic when Eva opened the door, one that felt kind of like an alarm ward. Considering the location, it was probably a magical door chime of sorts.

The inside of the shop was a lot smaller than the outside suggested, but I also couldn't see the back area. There was a small waiting area in front of a counter, and on the other side of the counter was a closed wooden door. The counter wasn't very long though, and judging by the way the back door was positioned it looked like customers were supposed to be allowed into the back by the proprietor.

About a minute later the back door opened, revealing a short old woman, a few inches taller than Helga, with silver-white, balding hair and an impressive number of wrinkles. She wore a brown kirtle over a browner chemise, and after taking one look at the three of us, lingering on my staff a little longer, she shuffled over behind the counter and sat down. "New faces. Always interesting to see around here. What can I interest you in?"

"I'm told you sell messenger owls," I said.

"Aye, I do. Are you looking for a fledgling or an adult?" she asked.

"What's the difference?" I asked.

"Fledglings are young and you have to do all the training yourself. That's a hassle, and you have to wait for them to grow. Cheap, though. Adults are grown, trained, and ready to fly around."

About what I thought then. "I'm looking for an adult then. Maybe two," I said.

"A pound each then."

I choked on air. "A pound each?! It's an owl!"

"If you were talking about a regular old owl, sure," she said. "But you're not. Messenger owls take three years to properly mature, and that's a lot of food they eat in the meanwhile. Then add in all the time spent looking after them, raising them, training them. And that's if I sell them within three to five years, elsewise they just keep eating coin. Pound each."

"I…" I looked down at Eva and found her looking at me pleadingly. "Just one then." Her face fell, and I continued on to ask, "What other kinds of animals do you sell though?"

"Cats and dogs mostly. The bulk are mundane breeds, pups and kittens. I've got a few with more magical lineages, but if you're balking at a pound you probably can't afford them."

"And who could?" I asked rhetorically. "The king?"

"Is this your first time in the Alley?" she asked in return.

"Yes."

"Ah. Well, when it comes to the more… exotic goods around here, we usually trade in services and favors. And you look like a wizard."

"I am," I confirmed.

"Then you could find work easily enough." She looked down at Eva and Cuthbert. "These your apprentices?"

"She's my apprentice, he's her brother," I explained.

"Ah. Either of you looking for a pet?" she asked.

Eva turned around and shot puppy-dog eyes at me.

"What would a puppy or kitten go for?" I asked.

"Thirty pence or so, depends on the breed. Newborns are younger, but I don't have any fresh litters right now."

"Go ahead then," I told Eva. Thirty pence I could easily afford, even sixty if Cuthbert wanted one too.

Eva beamed at me and turned around to look at the woman – Maria, I assumed. "Do you have any cute puppies? Something small and adorable that can follow my brother around?"

I could only see the back of Cuthbert's head, but I assume he blinked right before turning to look at his sister.

"Are you looking for a working dog or an eye-catching one?" Maria asked.

"Eye-catching," Eva replied.

"I don't need a dog," Cuthbert said.

"Shush, it'll make you seem more approachable at court, compliment your scowl."

"Ah," Maria said with a chuckle. "I see. Yes, I have some like that. Come along, take a look."

Maria went back into the back, followed a few seconds later by Eva dragging her brother along. I followed after them, shaking my head the whole way.

The back of the store was a lot larger, and separated into two levels. There was the ground level, littered with kennels and low-walled enclosures in which cats and dogs ambled around, and the upper level, a set of low-hanging rafters, where a number of owls roosted. The cats looked to be uniformly small house cats, none the size of Mister, while the dogs were a bit larger, but none of them looked to be on the scale of hunting dogs.

"These are all my trained owls," Maria said, gesturing at the rafters. "Price doesn't vary that much by breed. The snowy one's only forty pence more expensive than the barn owls, and the tawny owls are in between."

I nodded and started to look around, careful not to bump my head against the ceiling or any of the rafters. The moment I'd walked in the owls had all fixated on me, turning their heads and tracking my movements. It was kind of creepy.

There was one almost completely white owl which I assumed to be the snowy owl, and the rest were varying degrees of white, brown, and gray. The barn owls were easy to identify with their all-white, heart-shaped faces, and at a glance it looked like there was a three-three-one split among the owls; barn, tawny, and snowy respectively.

"How do you make money off the messenger owls? You can't sell that many of them if they're so expensive?" I asked.

"I run a message delivery service as well," Maria replied.

Looking around at the owls, none of them really clicked for me. I spent a few minutes just wandering around, checking them out, and ultimately decided that I didn't really care which one I got.

"Eva, which owl do you like the look of?" I asked, an idea brewing in my head.

Eva turned away from scrutinizing the various puppies to see which was the cutest and straightened up, looking over the seven roosting owls. She stopped on the snowy owl and stepped forward, tentatively holding a hand out.

I held out a hand for Eva to stop and glanced at Maria. "Can they be pet?"

"Long as you're careful."

I looked at Eva, noted the way she was admiring the owl, and nodded. "Okay. Eva, do you want that one?"

Eva furrowed her brow and looked at me.

"To own and look after," I clarified.

She looked even more confused. "Don't you need one?" she asked.

"Not frequently," I replied. "And I know you were excited to get one. So if you want that one you can have… him, her?"

Maria glanced over at the owl. "Him."

"You can have him, and I can borrow him when I need to."

Eva turned back to the owl, all excited, but she slowly paused and furrowed her brow before looking back at me. "Are you… going to make me do all the work of looking after it?"

"Aren't you doing that with your brother and the puppy? Getting him to do all the work while you reap all the benefits?" I asked rhetorically, and Eva looked away. "It'll teach you responsibility. " I glanced at the proprietor. "Assuming he doesn't have any special needs."

"Feed him if there's nowhere to hunt, let him fly free if there is, groom him, clean up after him. If he were a regular owl it wouldn't be that easy, but messenger owls were made to be hardy and self-sufficient," Maria said.

Yes, my secret master plan for keeping an owl was to get my apprentice to do all the hard work. Fortunately, Eva's excitement and enamorment won out over her apprehension.

We spent a little while longer in the shop sorting out what kind of puppy to buy Cuthbert, after which I paid Maria for the owl, the puppy, and all the miscellaneous bits and bobs necessary to look after the animals and transport them back to Berkhamsted. It was a hefty sum. After counting it all out, Maria told me to come back in an hour and she'd have everything ready for me.

The pet store took a much larger chunk out of my budget than expected, so I was hesitant to really buy much else. On the other hand, I figured that while I was here I may as well look around, figure out what I can come back for.

There were a variety of stores in the Alley – book store, clothing store, apothecary, metalworker, bar and so on. But the one that caught my eye on second glance was the one that stood out the most:

It looked old, almost ancient in comparison to the other storefronts around, like it was there in the original Roman days. It looked narrow, like it had been squeezed into a tight space. And it had a simple, non-alliterative sign: "Ollivander's Wands."

_Well, why not_, I thought.


	59. Chapter 4-XII

**March 1070**

The shop itself was small and quaint. Just past the door there was a small wooden table, beside which sat a middle-aged man with neck-length brown hair, dressed in plain green clothes. He sat near the front window and read by the light that filtered in, and he glanced up when we walked in.

"Ah, hello," he said, closing his book and putting it on the table.

The rest of his shop consisted of one main aisle that stretched all the way to a door a good few dozen feet down, and on the sides of this aisle stood stacks upon stacks upon stacks of shelves, filled with boxes and rocking horses and spoons and ladles and, occasionally, wands. There was enough assorted stuff here that you could bury me six feet under with it.

"Mister Ollivander, I assume?" I asked. "Unless you'd like me to call you something different."

"Geraint, please. And you?" he asked.

"Harry," I said.

Geraint raised a bushy eyebrow. "Quick to give it out."

"I have a few more, don't worry," I said. I pointed to Eva and then Cuthbert. "This is my apprentice Eva, and that's her brother Cuthbert. He's shaping up to be her porter."

Cuthbert's sigh filled the small foyer-area.

"Are you here to purchase some of my work?" Geraint asked. "I see you already have a staff."

"More for her than for me, though I might pick something up. Do you only sell premade wands or do you also sell the, call them raw materials?" I asked.

"The wood, certainly. Various specialty cores, not particularly. It's difficult to preserve them," he replied. "A crafter of your own?"

"I prefer to make my own foci where it's possible. Self-sufficiency, you know."

"A great virtue," he agreed. He looked down at Eva. "Would this be your first focus?"

Eva nodded.

"I see," he said, getting up from his seat with a groan. He patted down his pants, then paused and glanced up at me for a moment before looking back to Eva. "And are you looking for a general wand, or a primary focus?"

Eva looked up at me, and I shrugged. "Your focus, your choice. Unless you need me to explain something."

She shook her head. "No, I remember what you said. I was just…" She trailed off for a moment.

"You don't have to try and imitate me in everything. In fact, you really shouldn't," I said. I looked over at Geraint. "That said, I am going to be having her make her wand, if that impacts anything."

"Simply that it may not be as effective as one I or one of my ancestors have already made," he said. "And that I would recommend a baser starting material in case of any initial mistakes."

"Baser?" Eva asked.

"Any wood can be used to make a wand, or a staff," Geraint explained. "But some are inherently better than others. Wood taken from a common oak tree is inferior to that taken by one that was struck by lightning, for example, which is itself inferior from one taken from a sacred grove, and so on. And as different types of wood apply themselves better to different types of magic, there is the question of scarcity. Olive trees do not grow in this climate, after all, so their wood is seen more rarely. May I have your hand for a moment, please?"

Eva held out her right hand, and Geraint carefully gripped it and slowly turned it around, like he was getting a feel for the dimensions. "Hmm… great strength, vibrant feel for… transformation and transfiguration, a degree of precision," he muttered.

"You can tell that from a touch?" I asked, surprised.

"Family secret," he said with a small smile. "A very vital one in our line of work. Thank you, dear." He let go of Eva's hand and ambled into the aisle, humming under his breath.

"What was that you said about cores?" I asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. They are, hmm, not something to risk on a first attempt. Or even the thirtieth. Not unless you have an ample supply of them," Geraint said. "They are like designs upon a shield, but even that is a poor comparison. They accentuate a focus' nature, amplify it, and they must be innately magical, no hair off a common cat or anything like that. For example, if you were making a wand to channel force, you might add a hair or strand of muscle from a troll, if you could acquire such a thing. They're certainly not necessary and they're difficult to properly work with, but that is why you come to masters such as I."

"I see," I said.

Personally, I didn't believe everything he said, particularly about the different types of wood. Though that's probably because I hadn't been taught in a druidic tradition; if I had, I probably would have very strong opinions about the type of wood. Which is why I didn't say anything; it was my personal opinion and belief, and I didn't need to press that on Eva and squander whatever benefit she might get from that association.

"What about metal wands?" I asked, thinking of Malfoy's.

"Oh, I don't work with those. They certainly work well enough, but I'm a woodworker, not a blacksmith," Geraint replied, still rummaging around, piling various bits of wood into the crook of his arm.

"And why don't you have any cores for sale?"

"As I said, they're difficult to preserve. They lose potency the longer they've been separated from the body and need to be added to a wand rather quickly if they are to have any effect. I have a number of cored wands in my reserve, built up over the centuries, but very few cores themselves and I would certainly not sell those for anything other than a full commission or to a master." He grabbed one more type of wood, then walked back over to the table we were standing by and set them down.

He put down five lengths of wood, one nearly black, two dark brown, and two light brown.

Geraint tapped one of the dark brown pieces and said, "Poplar. Not what I would suggest as an ultimate wand for you, but good for a start. Consistent, reliable, and stable without leaning to any particular kind of magic." He tapped the other dark brown. "English Oak. Common here, but loyal, and demanding of a firm moral fiber. No particular leanings, as with poplar, but also allows for greater variances in strength." Light brown. "Chestnut. A very variable wood, adapts itself to the wielder, and very receptive to adding in wand cores. Doesn't inherently favor any branch of magic, however." The other light brown. "Alder. A study in contrasts. Unyielding, but it partners well with more outgoing and friendly sorts. Good for defensive charms and magic." And finally the black. "Ebony. Very well suited to Transfiguration and Evocation, though it is very difficult to acquire ebony here, so I would recommend this more as an ultimate wand if you don't have the funds or confidence to work ebony right now."

"And I just pick one?" Eva asked.

"Yes. Take your time, get a feel for them. Don't consider logic to start, just let your instincts guide you initially. Here, sit down." He gestured to his empty chair, and moved aside for Eva. After a quick glance at me, she sat down and started running her hand over the various types of wood.

"And for the young man?" Geraint asked, turning to face Cuthbert.

"I don't need a wand," he said, somewhat politely. "I can't do magic."

"Well that's certainly not true. You may not have a talent for it but everyone can develop some capacity for it," Geraint said. "You have the look and build of a fighter. Is that so?"

Cuthbert furrowed his brow and nodded slowly.

"Then you might find use in a defensive charm. Even if you don't wish to learn how to form a shield, and I imagine your sister's master can certainly describe the benefits of doing so, you might find the added protection useful."

"I… thank you, but no," Cuthbert said.

"Very well, that's your decision." Geraint looked up at me. Now that he was standing right in front of me, I could better peg his height at around five-eleven. "And you said you might be interested in something?"

"A secondary focus for Transfiguration specifically," I said.

"Hmm. Hand, please?"

I went to take off my right glove, then stopped myself. I wasn't sure how Geraint was doing his sensing trick, but I doubted it would work too well with a hand that was still somewhat cursed. So instead I pulled off my left glove and held out my left hand.

Geraint raised an eyebrow at the burn scars but didn't comment on them. He simply took my hand for a fraction of a second before pulling back and smiling. "Definitely the ebony," he said. "Though, if I may have a look at your staff for a second opinion?"

"What would that involve?" I asked.

"Just a physical inspection, nothing more," he said.

I shrugged and passed him my staff. He took it gently, then sucked in his breath. "Oh my," he said. "Not common wood, certainly. Birch? No, I don't think so. Not from a poplar or aspen tree either. It almost feels like fir, but I've never heard of white fir before. Where did you get this?"

"From the domain of a faerie," I replied vaguely. "I think, anyway. Must've been outside the Nevernever for it to stick around."

"Not necessarily, but rather likely," Geraint said idly. "Hmm. Yes, fir seems most likely, and a somewhat fae nature could explain the color. Still odd, but it does confirm my initial opinion."

"Why? What does fir correspond to?" I asked.

"It's ascribed to be the 'survivor's wood' in my family's journals. Now, there is an inherent difficulty in truly verifying this claim, but it seems that those to whom fir is suited have a strange knack for consistently weathering mortal peril."

I gave Geraint a look, then took back my staff. "Yeah, I can believe that. Not going to warn me off working with ebony?"

"Your staff is well made, and, well, to put it simply, I would find it less distressing if you were to overestimate yourself and make a mistake than if the young miss were to do the same."

"I'm supposed to be older and wiser, so if I screw up it's all my fault?" I asked.

"Essentially," Geraint said.

"Excuse me?" Eva asked, prompting us all to look at her. "I'd like the chestnut, for now at least."

"Very well," Geraint said. "How many blocks would you like? I cut them such that each is really only good for one."

"I… don't need multiple wands?" Eva said hesitantly.

"I think he's asking how many backups you want if you're not happy with your first attempt. And two, I'd say. I'll get her started carving regular wood, then the first block of chestnut, and the last will be the definitive article."

"As you wish," Geraint said. "And the ebony?"

"Just the one."

He nodded, picked up the other three blocks of wood, and went back into his aisle, putting them back in their original places before withdrawing a second block of chestnut. "Are you certain I can't interest you in a cored wand?"

"No, not really," I said. "Eva might come back later though." I frowned thoughtfully. "How do you even get a core in there, anyway?"

"It varies depending on size and shape," Geraint said as he came back. "Typically though, I like to carve the top and bottom halves of a wand separately with space for a small hollow in between, insert the core, and then seal them together with a bit of magic. We've found that works the best. Some cores you could wind around the outside of your wand, but then the core is subject to greater degradation and erosion. Can I interest you in anything else, some of my carvings perhaps? Purely mundane I assure you, though of a high quality."

"I guess wands don't sell that often?" I asked.

"Wands are in reliable demand, but not in constant demand. And not many of the goods sold here in the Alley sell all that frequently. You'll find that every one of our shops, save for the tavern, faces inwards and outwards. We sell to both communities."

"Makes sense," I said. I looked over at Cuthbert and Eva. "I'm not really interested in decorations, but take a look around, maybe you'll find something you're interested in."

As Eva started to drag Cuthbert into the aisle, I leaned back against the wall, put my left glove back on, and looked over at Geraint. "So, ignoring the difficulty of acquisition and whatnot, what kind of cores would you recommend for Transfiguration foci?"

"Well, there are the cores that generally empower a wand, but those are difficult to come across, and generally must come from a powerful, inhuman practitioner. Hair from a potent sidhe or one of the Woodfolk, some such things. For Transfiguration in particular, I would recommend the hair of a scion that hasn't made their Choice, as that conveys a certain element of mutability and transition. Changelings especially are ideal, as their fae heritage lends itself well to transformation."

"Not proper faeries though?" I asked.

Geraint shook his head. "No. A faerie is far more rigid in nature, no longer in a state of flux and transition. As I mentioned, some could make a wand better, but when it comes to accentuating Transfiguration, they are far inferior to changelings. Perhaps if one of the High Sidhe or a Queen gave a strand, but…" He shook his head again. "You may as well wish a dragon shed its scales for you to fashion armor out of. They're both as equally unlikely to happen."

"Yeah," I said. Granted, one was marginally, _marginally_ more likely in my case, but not by much. "How much magic do you use when making your wands?"

"As little as possible, ideally. Though that is partially because I make wands for sale to other practitioners, who must adapt the wands to themselves. If you are making a focus for yourself, there is more leeway. I would still recommend carving them out by hand, it builds a greater appreciation and connection to them, but Transfiguring certain details or into the ideal shape once you have the rough form is no problem. And, of course, if you have a core, to seal the wand."

I nodded. "What are the thaumaturgic risks involved? I assume it's rare to find a being willing to surrender their hair or other bits of their body to a practitioner."

"Before their use as a core, the usual risks. But after a core has been bound to a wand, the connection practically disappears. A cored wand may be marginally more effective in affecting the one the core was drawn from, but you couldn't stop their heart or track the being down. The stronger tie is to the practitioner that wields the wand, especially if they have used it for some time and channeled much magic through it."

So no to imbuing this new focus with soulfire, got it. Not that I was really planning to, but it was nice to get confirmation of it being a bad idea.


	60. Chapter 4-XIII

**March 1070**

After some browsing Eva settled on a statuette of a lounging cat, which when combined with the block of ebony accounted for most of what I paid Geraint. The blocks of chestnut were a negligible expense by comparison, since chestnut trees were fairly common around London; the Romans had brought them over way back when, from what Geraint told me. He also coaxed me into buying his cheapest, most common wand as a reference for me and Eva.

That whole diversion had taken ten minutes, and after carefully pocketing the blocks of wood and the statuette, I passed Eva a dozen pennies left her to go shopping, telling her to not leave the Alley and come back to the bookstore once she was done. She immediately dragged her brother off to the tailor's, and I shook my head as they left.

Not having a lot of interest in the other shops, right then at least, I went into the Tremendous Tomes and found that I'd walked into a cross between a library and a dollar store. There were shelves full of books along one wall – I spotted Rowena going through them, having not even looked my way as I entered – and also sheaves of parchment, pots of ink, and various quills. Book supplies, basically.

I greeted the proprietor Trevor, who was a stooped, balding old man who looked like he was in twilight years, and went over to browse the books. This time Rowena acknowledged my existence, briefly, before going back to her own browsing.

I'd already made copies of the introductory texts Rowena had loaned me and returned the originals, so I kept my browsing confined to anything that seemed to be related to more complex Transfiguration and also to general history and theory. In the end I walked out with five new books and a mumbled agreement from Rowena that I'd meet her back at the inn we'd booked.

Eva and Cuthbert caught me as I was leaving the bookstore. From the looks of it, Cuthbert had escaped the dread fate of having new clothes forced on him. We then went back to the Menagerie, where Cuthbert's new puppy was handed right over to him with a strongly worded suggestion to keep it close and well fed over the next few days to make sure it bonded, while Eva was made to feed her new owl before getting him in a travel cage.

The name was somewhat of a joke because the owl could trivially keep pace with a horse and couldn't get lost, but walking around with a free-flying or perching owl just looked weird.

After that we went back to the inn, put the owl in Eva's room, and spent the rest of the day just wandering around London. Cuthbert detoured to an armorsmith while we were doing this, and came back with a new coat of mail better sized for him.

And that was it, for this first time at least. I planned to make a few more trips throughout the rest of the year, when I could find the time.

Once more, with feeling: I miss cars.

The next day, we made our way back to Berkhamsted, arriving an hour before sundown. Eva, Cuthbert, and the guards went back to the castle, while Rowena split off after I returned her rented horse.

After stabling Shadowfax, I spent the rest of the day buying up small chunks and bits of wood, leftovers from the occasional logging effort. With Berkhamsted Forest essentially off-limits local logging had dropped off, but it hadn't completely stopped; there were still some lightly wooded copses and whatnot around Berkhamsted, if none as dense or close as the forest itself. It wasn't that expensive, and after I'd gotten what I felt was enough for Eva to practice on, I went home.

The next day, only Elfleda came by at the usual time.

"Where's Eva?" I asked as I let her in.

Elfleda took off her cloak, hung it up, and sighed. "She is busy with her new pet, grappling with an inescapable fact, that all animals shit."

I snorted. I couldn't help it. "Not on her clothes, I hope."

"Thankfully not," Elfleda replied. "Last I saw, she was trying to enlist Ninian's help, or at least advice."

Ninian was the man the centaurs had put forth to "represent" them. He was only a few inches shorter than me, and had the kind of broad figure and musculature that suggested he was a centaur changeling. He rarely spent much time in the castle from what I heard, only really coming back to sleep. We'd talked a few times, but our jobs didn't intersect and neither did our social circles, so I couldn't say I really knew him.

"What do you think her chances are? Of getting his help?" I asked, heading back into the main room.

"Of getting his help? Minimal; while he may appreciate a blunt request, he does not strike me as the helpful sort, or someone skilled with looking after owls. Advice, though? She should be able to manage that."

"Blunt request?" I repeated, pulling out a chair for Elfleda.

"Thank you. As for Eva, she was always earnest, but it's clear that her mother did not truly prepare her for such social encounters and arenas. That is not such a problem if she were to marry a minor landholder or heir and be content with such a simple life, but in Robert's court, or a similar one, she would have quickly been subsumed, by Lucille or someone like her." She took the cup, plate, and cutlery I passed her with a nod, then started cutting up the pork. "Teaching her social mores has been a lengthy task. Still, she is more capable now, if decidedly lacking in subtlety, something that will have to be addressed."

"That's good to hear. I think," I said as I sat down.

"She learns quickly. She is simply... starting from behind, as it were." She popped a small, nearly cubical chunk of pork into her mouth. "And her earnestness is, atimes, endearing. For example, she thought I should be incensed by Rowena."

I slowed in the process of cutting up my own meat. "And are you?"

"Are you pursuing her, or courting her?" Elfleda asked.

"No," I replied. "We're just... friends."

"Then what else is there to say?" Elfleda asked, taking another bite.

I frowned slightly. "That's it? Really?"

"Really," she said. "Why are you surprised?"

"I... I mean... I'm not sure..."

"You think me jealous?" Elfleda asked, arching an eyebrow. "I would be, were you involved in a tryst. But as you are not, neither am I." She dabbed at her mouth and set knife and fork aside for the moment. "I think both you and Eva have not fully considered all of the implications of my sight."

"What do you mean?" I asked, taking a bite of my own food.

"I see emotions, and I have gotten quite proficient at understanding what I see. It is not easy to deceive me, and by extension, I do not have to worry over the uncertainties involved in trust. If you say you and Rowena are not courting, I can know at a glance that you are being truthful. As a result, there is no room for insecurity," she explained.

"I didn't think of that," I admitted, shaking my head.

"I thought not. Now, I am of course disappointed you did not take me along, but I can understand you felt apprehensive at such a step. It's endearing in its own right, if also immensely frustrating."

"I'm... sorry?" I said slowly.

"Mmm."

We ate in silence for a bit, and then I asked, "Well, if Eva's not coming, then what are we going to do today?"

"That is up to you," Elfleda said. "But I would not mind hearing you play the lute again. You are very good, from what little I heard."

"Yeah," I said a little blandly. I was, though not because of any significant skill or effort on my part. Sure, I hadn't been terrible when I'd started, but I hadn't been good either. But then Lash had started helping me out there, letting me circumvent my own ineptitude. It had been her parting gift to me. I hadn't played an instrument since the day of her death, not up until recently anyway.

And I was still good at it.

"Ah. A sore point, I see. I did not mean to trouble you," she said.

"No, it..." I sighed. "It's not a problem. Just mixed memories, is all."

After we finished eating I cleaned the table and pulled out my lute. I'd done a little bit of tuning since getting it, but not too much; the strings couldn't handle that much tension compared to what I was used to.

The real issue was what to play. I'd already done Stairway to Heaven, and most of the other songs I remembered, at least in enough detail to play them, were from bands like the Rolling Stones and AC/DC. And, well, playing Sympathy for the Devil or Highway to Hell or anything else like that struck me as not the greatest idea. Sure, I didn't need to include the vocals, but still, no reason to tempt fate.

I spent a few minutes doing basic chords, just getting into the swing of things. Elfleda joined in near the end, humming along in tune. Then I transitioned into "Paint It Black", from there into "I Will Survive", and then went through all the Queen songs I could remember, starting with "Another One Bites the Dust." I didn't try my hand at "Bohemian Rhapsody" though; I only vaguely remembered it, and there was no way I could recreate even a fraction of it with just a lute.

And no, I feel no guilt listing off song names that probably no one will ever get.

Once I went through my repertoire, Elfleda and I switched roles, her humming out songs she remembered and me trying to keep tune. I didn't recognize any of them, but a lot of them sounded like they could be paced as dancing songs, maybe a waltz.

I played for about two hours straight, switching hands until the fingers on both were numb. Elfleda's voice didn't waver once, which was impressive.

"I shall have to get a lyre for next time," she said.

"You don't have on here?" I asked.

She shook her head. "It has been some time since I engaged in such... recreation," she said. "Thank you for the experience."

"No problem," I said, moving to put my lute back.

Once I set it back in its place on the shelf, Elfleda asked, "Were you going to ask for my hair at any point?"

I froze, my back to her. "So Eva told you that, huh."

"I imagine she thought she was being clever and subtle, but her approach was too direct to not see her intent," Elfleda said. "Well?"

I lingered at the shelf for a bit, then sighed and went back to my seat. "No, I'm not."

"May I ask why?"

"There are a few reasons."

Elfleda shot me an irritated look.

"Alright, alright," I said. "It's not that it wouldn't be useful, I guess, but... it's not just the hair. I mean, if we barely knew each other, then maybe, or if our interactions were different, but as it is... it's practically romantic."

"And why is that a problem?" she asked.

"Because I've fucked up the life of every woman that was ever romantically interested in me," I said bluntly.

"How so?"

I took a deep breath and considered, briefly, just not saying anything. And then I considered who was asking. Elfleda could see what I felt, could draw inferences. She probably saw shades of regret and frustration and loss. But she didn't really get it, couldn't properly contextualize it.

So I thought, fuck it, why not?

"Well, let's see. I guess it all started when I spent a decade thinking I'd accidentally burned my first girlfriend to death. Then there were the ones that ruined their lives trying to help me, the ones that were started on false pretenses, the ones that..." I swallowed, looked away, and pushed through. "That died for me, in my arms."

Technically speaking, Lash hadn't died in my arms. But practically speaking, I didn't see much of a difference.

"So yeah," I continued. "I'm very hesitant to get into any kind of relationship, because every time, both of us have come out the worse for it." I went to take a drink, and found that my water had practically frozen, so I slid it to the side. "And I'm not the type for just a casual, sexual relationship either, so there's-"

Elfleda's lips interrupted me. They were cold, freezing. At some point she must've gotten up out of her seat and come over, because now my chin was tilted upward to meet her as she leaned forward. For a moment, surprise mingled with desire and simple, raw need. Then, as the surprise faded, one of us leaned back, I wasn't sure who. Maybe it was both. All I felt and saw was Elfleda's reluctance and frustration as we parted.

And maybe my own as well.

She cast her eyes downward, avoiding my gaze, and looked me over from the neck down. I panted, keenly aware of her scent and the curves of her body, right in front of me.

Then she shifted, moving to sit on the edge of the table besides me, and looked down at my brow with a complicated expression. I don't know what she saw there, in me, but she looked away after a moment.

"Does the end matter, if the journey was enjoyable?" she asked.

I thought of Susan, of a knife sticking out of her chest, her heart. A knife I'd used.

With a hoarse voice, I said,

"Yes."


	61. Chapter 5-I

**April 1070**

Things didn't get a chance to get too awkward, as Robert came back in the evening. Given night was falling and I was still dealing with… everything, I didn't go out to meet him, and he didn't bring me in to see him. I spent most of the evening just staring at Amoracchius, which I'd brought back to my room.

I remember wondering if I should get a sheath for Amoracchius, and whether that implied I was going to be transporting and using it, along with a bunch of other random thoughts to distract myself from the kiss and the music. There may have been some pacing and muttered… "stupid"s, "stupids", what even is the right punctuation and spelling there?

Whatever.

Come morning I still had no clue what I wanted from Elfleda, but it didn't take me long to realize that things would get rather awkward during the lesson, assuming one happened. So I did what any middle-aged man who had no clue how to deal with women or relationships would do: I mustered my courage and then proceeded to do something else entirely.

After making breakfast for both myself and Shadowfax, I took my horse on a brisk walk around the town before heading off to the castle and handing him off to the stablehands. Then I went looking for Robert.

I found him very quickly in the courtroom, holding court – resolving legal disputes and complaints, that sort of thing. My first instinct was to go lean against a column and wait for him to finish. Then I spotted Elfleda, and moved to the back of the room. I'd say she didn't see me, and she might not have, but she almost certainly felt the slight chill in the air.

The whole shebang went on for another awkward hour, at which point Robert's irritation boiled over and he called for a recess. Or, well, not exactly, but I'm being vaguely polite and legalistic here. I started moving towards Robert at that point, and my height meant he spotted me quickly. A few quick words later, and we were heading towards his meeting room.

"You don't usually come to see me," Robert said. He took a seat, then waved at a nearby chair.

I sat down. "We don't usually have anything to talk about."

Robert nodded. "And you do now?"

Well, sort of. I wanted to strike while the iron was hot, get the ball rolling on convincing local nobility of the benefits of the project by starting with Robert. Only, as I went to respond, I realized that I probably should have consulted with Elfleda first.

But instead I avoided her out of awkwardness. So instead, in the immortal words of Bill O'Reilly, passed down to me by Murphy from the bizarre nether realm that is "the Internet", in that moment I thought: Fuck it, we'll do it live.

"Do you remember the school we talked about, uh…" I looked around briefly. "Right in this room, actually."

Robert furrowed his brow, and then nodded after a second. "Yes, the school you and… Helga wanted to found. What about it?"

I had two objectives here: get Robert to help me, and make sure he didn't think we were skipping past his brother somehow. Now, I was good at bluffing, less so at lying, so I decided to just hammer home on the first part and hope he didn't think of the other consequences.

"We've made progress on some of the practical concerns, enough to start actually planning… it," I said.

By which I meant, "we had a workable prototype for the detection spell and we were no longer going to be catering just to practitioners." Though I didn't say that.

Out loud, I continued, "What I'd like to talk to you about is the curriculum and the student body."

Robert furrowed his brow further. "Very well," he said slowly. His tone made it obvious he didn't get it.

I thought about how to best phrase my explanation, then decided to just cut straight to the point. "We're going to be teaching a lot of mundane, normal subjects. Natural philosophy, or in broader terms literacy, mathematics, philosophy, physics–"

"Physics?" Robert asked.

"How and why objects move. Massive, _massive_ simplification, but that's the short summary of it," I said. "And medicine, disease prevention, so on."

"That seems a worthy goal," Robert said slowly. "But what does that have to do with me?"

"Two reasons. One, because we plan to open our doors to… well, essentially everyone, but practically just the people that can make it to wherever we set up and keep pace. And two, because some of the students that will graduate will need to look for work later. And they'll know how to read and write and count and do math and all the useful skills you'd want someone like a scribe to have."

"Ah. Yes, I see how that could be valuable, but I still don't quite grasp what you want from me, unless it is some kind of permission to… induct farmers and city-dwellers."

"That would be nice, but we were looking at also teaching these things to the nobility. And you hold a lot of land and have a lot of vassals. I was hoping you could help me get in touch with other lords, start spreading the word."

Robert frowned somewhat. "You would be building one school, yes? In England or Scotland?"

"Probably in England," I said. That had been the final conclusion for the front-facing part of it, and we were approaching the Hidden Halls as more of a bonus. If we got them, great, we'd figure out how to work them into the plans, probably set up some kind of Portkey from there to wherever we built the school, but as a general institution meant to handle hundreds if not thousands of students setting it up in Scotland, where none of us had any connections, was just not practical.

"And you would be doing all the teaching there?"

"Yeah," I said.

"And this would take time, years?"

"Well, basic literacy may not take that long, but for everything… yeah. Years."

"Then what is the… the draw, the reason to come?" he asked. "Say I had a son. What is the benefit of sending him to your school instead of sending him to be a page, or a squire? Or, when he would be older, of going himself rather than staying in court or going abroad to earn renown and experience?"

See, this right here is where Elfleda would have been really useful. Because honestly, up until this point, I'd completely overlooked how the nobility tended to do child-rearing.

There was something he said that stood out to me though. "You don't have a son?" I asked.

Robert's expression turned dark. "No," he said. "Fifteen years and all I have to show for it is three daughters."

"Do you have something against them?" I asked, the air in the room getting a little warm.

"No, they're excellent girls, but I need a son. But unless you can fix that there is no value in dwelling on it right now." He paused and furrowed his brow. "Could you?"

"I would have no clue where to start," I said. "There is, so far as I know, no way to decide the sex of a child with magic." I decided to not say anything about inducing fertility; I didn't know how to do it, and I didn't need Robert thinking he could force his wife to repeatedly have kids until she bore a son.

I'd known something was off in the state of their marriage for a while now, courtesy of the fact I'd never seen his wife – or any of his daughters – but this was the first sign I had that it was more than simple dissatisfaction.

Come to think of it, was Lucille somehow using Robert's lack of a son to manipulate him? I'd have to look into that possibility.

"But to answer your question, we can break up the role of the squire into two main parts: to be an attendant, and to learn how to be a knight," I said.

"In essence," Robert agreed.

"Well, you don't necessarily need a squire-squire, a noble, to be an attendant. I know it's tradition and all, but it's not like there is any intrinsic need that a squire be a noble boy," I argued.

"I suppose not, but the goal of a squire is to become a knight. Yes, I could take on other attendants, but that would not resolve the desire to have sons squire. They don't just do work, they learn. Even if you hired people to teach how to fight, how to ride, it would not be the same."

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. I didn't know what to say in response to that. At least Robert was being helpful and patient.

"Perhaps you would be better served arguing the benefits of replacing the page," Robert suggested.

"Okay. What does a page do?" I asked.

"You do not know?" Robert asked, frowning.

"Nope. I'm not a noble, and I didn't grow up like one either," I said.

"Hmm. Well, to put it simply, a page is an attendant. Yes, they are trained in combat and horse-riding and other, less physical things, but otherwise they're too young to truly be anything other than servants."

"Less physical things like?" I asked.

"It varies. Music, chess, sometimes literacy. Courtly things," Robert replied.

"Okay. And how long is someone a page?"

"Usually, but not always, a boy's early life is divided into three seven year segments. Until seven they're raised at home, from seven to fourteen they're a page, from fourteen they're a squire, and around their second decade they're likely to become a knight and are unquestionably a man."

"Alright. Then assuming that, when it comes to nobles, the school replaces pages, then we would be offering a more consistent, broader, and higher quality education than a page is likely to learn from a sole chaplain or scribe or whatever. They'll learn how to read and write and count to manage their future affairs, and they'll learn how to interact and socialize with others. Get enough people in there and it's a prolonged social gathering where people can build connections for the rest of their lives." I frowned thoughtfully. "Who's responsible for teaching before the age of seven?"

"The mother, normally. An older sister or aunt or grandmother if the mother is lacking," Robert said.

"So there's a benefit to taking in girls and women too. They learn skills that will be useful later on in their life, to their family."

A brief aside: just about every woman I've ever known would kick my ass at the implication that a woman's only use is to her family. And hey, as much as I acknowledge I have a somewhat chauvinistic viewpoint, it's from the "women should be protected" angle, not the "women should be in the house making babies" angle. So don't take my words the wrong way. But Robert didn't strike me as being very gender-egalitarian, so that argument was never going to get anywhere with him.

Case in point: Robert frowned uneasily. "That I am… less confident about."

"What's the problem? You don't think women should learn how to read and write and do math, get educated?" I asked.

"I can see the benefits, but I am hesitant about sending my daughters far from my court. And once they are married they won't have the opportunity to spend years traveling and learning."

"Your daughters are in Normandy right now," I said. "Half an island and a Channel away. That's a lot farther than a few weeks ride."

"Yes, but they're at my court."

"Okay, but then you aren't arguing from a position of 'they're too far away', you're saying you don't think they're safe elsewhere. Which, alright, I can understand that argument, but it's something that can be addressed by taking safety measures in the school."

"Let us put aside that argument for now," Robert said, clearly avoiding the topic.

I suppressed a sigh and a roll of my eyes and said. "Fine. Back to the page thing. Is the argument I made a good one?"

"It's convincing. But for it to be truly worth it, you would need to convince many families to send their young sons not to serve as pages, but to go to your school," Robert said.

"Which is what I'm asking you to help with," I said. "Introduce me to these other important lords, to your vassals, support my argument. Even if everyone just ends up hiring scribes to do all the drudge-work, the ability to properly oversee those efforts, to understand what's going on, is very valuable."

Robert put his hands together and started drumming his fingers along the backs of his hands. "I will think on it. This is not a denial, mind you, but with the recurring instability and insurrections spreading this idea could be difficult. But there is someone I can introduce you to that could help you more, were you to convince him."

"Who?" I asked.

"My brother Odo, Bishop of Bayeux. He is the king's regent in England, or rather while William is here Odo is his right hand, his administrator. He's the Earl of Kent, which when combined with his other duties means he's often found in the south of England or along the coast of Normandy. I am not entirely sure where he is, but it should not be difficult to meet him somewhere along the way."

"Along the way where?"

"In a few weeks, likely two, perhaps three, I am planning on returning to Mortain. There are some matters there I must see to in my own domain, and to the south there is a revolt in Maine that William has asked me to survey and ideally put down. I am not confident I can succeed in the latter course, not without the troops that William presently commands, but he should not be too long behind me."

"So you're, we're, going to France," I said.

"Normandy," Robert corrected. "And while you do not have to come, and I do not have the ability to command you, I would appreciate it."

I sighed and sat back. Normandy, France, whatever. Robert was going south to where a vampire had influence, if not outright control, over a nation's armies. Where, perhaps, the White Court were heavily embedded in the local political structure. To put it a third way, he was going to vampire central.

Things never ended well when I went to vampire central. Every single time I've gone to vampire central, I've nearly died and caused some political shakeup. In fact, the blame for half of the shit that happened in my life can be traced directly back to me going to vampire central at one point or another.

"I'll think about it," I said. "Will you be taking everyone else at court here with you?"

"Not everyone, I don't think, but just about," Robert said.

"Everyone" included a few people I'd prefer it didn't. Like Elfleda. And maybe Eva. And Lucille, who would, if I'd read her right, be utterly terrified at the prospect of running into her father.

Ha. Ha. Ha…ah fuck. The vampires have a swear for this kind of situation, what is it… oh, right.

Empty night.

* * *

Author's Note: Buckle in boys and girls, we're heading to vampire country, and don't forget to pack your sunglasses; it's full of sparkles.


	62. Chapter 5-II

**April 1070**

The trip to France changed things. I couldn't just meander awkwardly around Elfleda and leave my position with Lucille nebulous and everything because in a few weeks we'd all be heading into danger. And while maybe, together, the three of us could convince Robert to go on alone, that would raise questions which could lead to issues which could lead to everything blowing up.

Things would be so much easier if Lucille and Tim were just stereotypical mustache-twirling vampires. Then I could just expose them and not have to deal with the potential nuclear bomb that was inherent in me keeping their secrets.

So, after deciding that there was no more room for screwing around, I went to find Elfleda. I started with her room since that was the closest, but when the air didn't get any colder as I approached, I turned around and changed course to the library.

That turned out to be the right place, and as an extra benefit she was alone in the library. She was already looking at the doorway as I entered, forewarned by the slight dip in room temperature.

"Harry," she said softly.

"Hi." I stood there awkwardly for a few moments, then sighed, stepped inside, and closed the door. "We need to talk about yesterday."

"Is it the best time? You seem very uncertain," she said.

"No," I admitted. "But there are pressing issues I'll get to that require at least a temporary solution to this, so here I am."

Elfleda frowned and closed the book she was reading. "Very well."

I propped my staff against the wall, took a seat, and sighed. "I have issues. A lot of issues. Multiple subscriptions' worth of issues."

She furrowed her brow. "What?"

"Never mind," I said. "The point is that being with me is problematic. Dangerous. And…" I took a deep breath. "And I do care about you. I don't want you to get hurt. But there are a lot of obstacles in the way. Mab's just the most obvious."

"Yet despite that, you still want to be with me," she said.

I let out a long sigh. "Yes. You're… you're great. And I'm not."

"I think that's up to me to decide," she said. "But your main concern is that you will not be able to protect me, yes?"

"That, or that I might hurt you accidentally, stupidly," I said.

"Then let us approach this by parts. Socially, there is very little you could damage about me. My marriage prospects are few and practically nonexistent. My position at court depends entirely on my relationship with Robert. You are, to put it politely, disengaged with the court. Even were I to lose all social standing, even were you to bed me and then cast me aside, something I don't believe is in your nature, very little would change about my situation. Robert would still retain me. So my livelihood, in practice, can only be improved. Physically, magically, I don't believe you would harm me. That leaves only others."

"Still a major issue," I said.

"Perhaps." She folded her hands together atop her book. "But is it an insurmountable problem?"

"I don't know, but I can't guarantee your safety," I said.

"In life, there are no guarantees," she said. "But do you believe you have any enemies, right now, that would come after you through me?"

I took a deep breath. "Mab, maybe," I said. "And I can't predict her. But otherwise, no, not yet."

She huffed in amusement. "Not yet. So confident in your ability to make enemies?"

"It seems to be a habit with me," I said. "I stick my nose in where people don't want it."

"Hmm. Well, then is there a problem right now? Could we not continue on as we have been, and work towards overcoming this problem?"

"Hope that we find a solution, basically?" I asked.

"Basically," she agreed.

I sighed, closed my eyes, and rubbed my temples. "Well, we'll need to find a solution fast."

"Why? Because of the pressing issues you mentioned?" she asked.

"Yeah." I opened my eyes and looked at her. "Robert's planning to go back to Normandy, and the current Constable of France, the commander of the French armies, is Gauthier Renouth. As in Lucille and Tim's vampire father."

Elfleda blinked languidly. "Ah. I can see how that could be a pressing problem." She started humming thoughtfully. "Robert will prefer that I come, but I could beg off to stay with you." She frowned. "Why do you have to go? If he is their father what is the issue?"

"The issue is they ran away and Lucille seems deathly terrified of him, enough that she wants me to kill him," I said. "And I think she's afraid that if she runs into him again, she'll be his, forever."

"Is that a realistic fear, do you think?"

Lord Raith and his extremely squicky, incestual control methods said yes. "It could be," I said. "The problem is I just don't know anything about Gauthier. Lucille's opinion is intensely biased by her fear and hatred, so of course she'll assume the worst. Maybe there's nothing to fear. Maybe she's entirely right to fear being raped and sexually dominated into submission."

Elfleda made a face. "Is that how vampires exert control?"

"Some," I said. "I don't know if Gauthier's the type."

"Mmm. And what is stopping all of us from remaining behind?"

"A whole lot of questions," I said. "And the fact that it doesn't address the problem. All it does is send Robert into vampire territory with absolutely no protection."

Elfleda shifted her hands and started tapping her fingers against the book cover. "Then I think I will come with you. You'll benefit from someone that could identify a vampire on sight, if any try to slip in."

"How would– right, you can see the aura of lust," I said.

"Or fear, or despair," she said with a nod.

I sighed and worked at my lip. I expected Elfleda would come along, really. It didn't exactly surprise me. But that didn't mean I liked it.

"I think I'd prefer if you stayed behind," I said.

"And what good is there in that? It is ultimately more dangerous for me to stay behind than it is for me to go with you."

I frowned. "I don't really see how. In one situation you stay away from any vampire and in the other you come to vampire central with me."

"If you go without me, then you will be alone and potentially surrounded by vampires. Your only supposed allies will be Lucille and Tim, either of whom could potentially turn on you without any notice and you might never be able to tell. If they took you or killed you and turned Robert I wouldn't know until Robert and perhaps you returned, under a vampire's thumb. And what happens to me then?" She shook her head. "No, your odds, our odds, are higher if I come and help you, even if it may put me at more immediate risk."

I closed my eyes and digested her words. She had a point. I didn't like it, not one bit, and I didn't entirely agree with her, but she had a point. Every time I'd gone after the White Court I'd brought help, someone to watch and cover my back. If I went in alone, I wouldn't have to worry about Elfleda's safety. But I might not walk out again, not as myself.

"Can I even make you stay?" I asked, sighing.

"No," she replied. "So it's not worth wasting any more time considering the notion."

"Alright." I took a deep breath. "Alright. I don't like it but alright. But now we have to deal with Eva, and Cuthbert."

"Ah, yes. They are complicating factors, aren't they," she said.

"I was thinking of sending them home to their parents while we're gone," I said. "It's been most of a year since they've seen their mother and Eadric wasn't around for that much longer. Plus, I'm not sure Eadric would be thrilled over them coming to Normandy. The only other issue is Eva's education, and I could probably get a friend to pick up the slack there while I'm gone."

"A logical solution," she said. "Now you just need to get Eva to go along with it."

I clicked my tongue and nodded. "Yeah. That might be tough." I brushed off my pants and stood up. "Well, let's go. No time like the present."


	63. Chapter 5-III

**April 1070**

We found Eva in her room, grooming her owl. She seemed a bit surprised as we walked in.

"Hello," she said. "Is there a lesson today after all?"

"In about an hour or so, yeah. We've got something else to talk about though," I said. I moved to lean against the wall, while Elfleda sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Are you getting married?"

I choked on air and had to hit my chest a few times, while Elfleda just lightly laughed.

"No, the subject is rather… different," Elfleda said.

"Yeah, uh, that," I said, coughing my throat back into order. "The short version is that the earl's going to be heading off to France soon, and you're going to have to stay behind when we go."

Eva furrowed her brow and frowned. "Why?" she asked.

"You know that conversation we had about vampires, and Tim…othy and Lucille being ones?" I asked.

"Yes," she said slowly. "They don't seem very dangerous."

I took a deep breath. "They don't seem very dangerous because they haven't done much at all, at least so far. And the reason they haven't done much at all is because they either want to work with me or at least not make me angry enough to come after them. And also, because as vampires go, they're just not very vampy. Or experienced. But make no mistake – they are dangerous, and you should be cautious around them until I can be sure they're trustworthy." I shook my head. "Where was I, right. The other bit you should remember from that discussion is that vampires are born. Specifically, Timothy and Lucille have a father, someone with significant influence in France. And I have no clue if he's going to make an appearance or be hostile."

"Why would he be hostile? Or why do you have to go?"

That was a question I expected to hear a lot over the coming days, in various forms.

"Lucille really, really hates her father, and is also terrified of him. She thinks, and maybe soundly, that he wants to control and manipulate and dominate her," I said. "Maybe she's wrong. Maybe he doesn't. But if she's right, and if he does, I need to be there to stop him. So that's why."

"But why can't I come along? Timothée and Lucille don't know about me, do they?" Eva asked.

"They should not know you're a witch, but no one could miss that Harry has some obligation to you and your brother," Elfleda said. "If you come to France, then Harry will have to worry about protecting me, and the earl, and the Renouths, and you and your brother, all by himself. That is a great many people to watch over and not a simple task, especially if the Renouths prove treacherous."

"But… I…" Eva sighed and emotionally, and slightly physically, deflated. "I just got the wood for my wand. Why now? What am I even going to do?"

"We've got a few weeks before we have to leave, so we'll change the focus of our lessons to primarily wood-carving and focus-making," I said. "And when the time comes, I'll send you and your brother back to your parents. I figure you'll appreciate some time with them after almost a year apart."

Eva's expression rose. "That's true."

"And just because I won't be around to teach you doesn't mean I can't get someone to cover for me. Probably." I looked around the room quickly and settled on a small bedside table, where a few pieces of parchment, quill, and inkpot sat. I pointed at it and asked, "May I?"

"Uhm, yes," Eva said.

"Thanks. By the way, what'd you name your owl?" I asked, taking the top off the inkpot and dabbing the quill inside.

"Elric," Eva said with a touch of melancholy. "After my younger brother."

I frowned and had to process that for a bit. "How did he die?" I asked.

"I don't know. I was only a few years older than him and he died young. I barely remember anything from that long ago," she said.

"I'm sorry," I said, then paused as I put quill to parchment.

The question, when boiled down to the basics, was whether I would ask Rowena or Helga to sub in for me. Helga could fly, and was good at Transfiguration, so she'd be a good fit that way. On the other hand, she could be busy in Constantinople. On the metaphorical third hand, Rowena lived close to Dorham – relatively – had some actual teaching experience, and seemed to get along with Eva.

After some thought I decided to split the difference and send the letter to Rowena, asking her to check with Helga and come to my house to talk about arrangements when she-slash-they could.

I penned the letter, closed the inkpot, dried the quill against my fingers – my right hand had recovered enough I no longer felt the need to wear gloves – and set the quill back down, waiting for the ink to dry. "Have you fed Elric recently?" I asked.

"Just this morning, an hour ago," Eva confirmed.

"Good," I said. I gave it most of a minute for the ink to dry, then carefully rolled up the parchment and turned to Eva. "Now, first things first, open the window."

She got up off her bed and did so.

"Now take this, and offer it to Elric," I said, holding out the parchment.

She took it gingerly, then moved to where Elric was nesting atop her drawer, head cocked at a right angle. She held out her hand, and the owl focused on the parchment.

"And finally, tell him to deliver this to one Rowena Ravenclaw," I said.

She repeated what I said, and after one final glance, Elric reached out, grabbed the parchment, and flew out the window.

Eva looked excited as Elric left, though after a little while the excitement turned to a mix of confusion and curiosity. "How does it know where to fly, or who Rowena is?" she asked. "Does it remember her?"

"Well, probably," I said. "But I have no clue how those birds work. You should ask Rowena if she ends up teaching you in the interim, she might know."

"Is she going to be teaching me while you're gone?" Eva asked.

"Maybe. Her or Helga, hopefully. Or both. And if neither, well, then just enjoy your time with your family and don't do anything adventurous," I said. "Now, I'm going to go back home and get ready. Once it's noon, come on over; I'll get you started on the carving."

After making my goodbyes I did not, in fact, go straight home. Instead, I went looking for either Tim or Lucille, found Tim wandering the halls, and told him I wanted to speak with Lucille two days from then, at four past noon.

I could've tried to push for an immediate meeting, but time wasn't that short and I was the one that had instituted the "rule" about scheduling and appointments, so I figured I may as well follow it.

Eva, as it turned out, did not have a talent for woodworking. But she had determination, and frankly that was more important. I got her started on bits and pieces of wood, taught her how to hold and use the knife, to take it slow because you couldn't really fix a mistake if you carved off the wrong bit, and so on. Would she be ready to make a wand in two, three weeks? I wasn't sure. But she stood a good chance, I would say. 

* * *

Rowena was the one that came to see me. It happened the next day in the evening, a while after Eva and Elfleda had left. I let Rowena in, prepared a quick snack, and we sat down at the main table across from one another.

Rowena got right into it. "Like you thought, Helga is busy in Constantinople, and will be for a while. Now, I can look after your apprentice if you wish, though I would strongly prefer if she came to my tower. But where are you going where you need to make such arrangements?"

"Vampire central," I said in between bites.

She frowned. "What?"

"Sorry, personal reference," I said. I washed the bread down with some water and added, "Robert, the earl, is heading down to France, partly to deal with some rebellion. And I am… somewhat reliably informed that the current Constable of France, the commander of their armies, is a vampire. And has a good chance of showing up."

Rowena nodded. "I see. And you don't want your apprentice anywhere near that."

"Oh hell no," I said. "Every time I've gone anywhere that could be described as vampire central hostilities have broken out and things got crazy; I don't really think this time will be different."

"Which is why you want to go and protect the earl, your patron." Rowena nodded, snacked a bit, then asked, "Why not ask Salazar to help? I'm not certain, but I think he could make time."

"I… don't really think that's a good idea," I said slowly.

Rowena's eyebrows rose. "Why?" she asked.

"I mean, protecting Robert is important, but if it was just Robert, I wouldn't actually consider him to be at risk, really. It's Tim and Lucille, mainly."

"The vampires. From here," Rowena said.

I nodded.

"What about them?"

"Lucille is the one that told me that the Constable of France is her father. And she is afraid that her father will try and control her. And… I'm not sure I can really justify it as being 'not my problem.'"

"She's a vampire. Why do you care?" Rowena asked.

I didn't have a ready answer to that, so instead I metaphorically chewed on the problem while actually eating as well. In truth, I already knew the answer; I was just wondering how much to tell Rowena.

"Well, you already know about the shadow," I said. "And in comparison, this is a lot milder." I drank some water and wiped my mouth. "I had an older brother. He was a vampire. A Raith, specifically. We were close, and we lived together for a while, and he… he tried to be better. To not take the easy route, to not be a monster. And we parted on… not great terms."

"They're not your brother though."

"I know that!" I yelled. Then I grimaced and pulled back, feeling a little guilty over the way Rowena had frozen. "I know that. I know that there's fucking nothing I can do to address the way I hurt him. But that's not really why I'm doing this." I fell silent, moved my plate to the side, and put up my elbows in front of me, resting my head against steepled fingers.

I thought a lot of half-formed thoughts in that moment, most of which I don't even remember at this point. But I do remember the one that stuck: Amoracchius. I don't know how I got to that train of thought, but I know where I went from there.

Presumably, Uriel had given the Sword for me to safeguard. And presumably, he'd left it in my bedroom to get a slight laugh at my expense. But experience, and his own words, told me that he never tried to do only one thing. There were always butterfly effects. I'd used the Sword to counter my friends' and colleague's suspicions, and I doubt Uriel had a real problem with that, but that's too simple, too direct.

And the more I turned the question over, the more things came together. At first, I'd thought I'd gotten the Sword because of what I did with Cerdic, the chance I gave him. And that was probably part of it. But now, I'm wondering if it didn't appear in my room after that talk with Lucille on the road.

"Choice," I said quietly. "It comes down to choice. Lucille and her brother could be wolves in sheep's clothing, manipulating me to their own ends. Maybe. But I don't really believe that. I think they're people, struggling with a bad hand of cards. And you could be right and they could become monsters and screw me over, and that would be their choice. But if Lucille's right about her father, and I'm not there, then she doesn't get a choice. And enough choices have already been taken from her."

Rowena didn't reply immediately. She didn't say anything for a full minute. When she did speak, she just said, "Alright."

"Thank you," I said.

"What are you going to do with Eva?" she asked.

"Can you come by again next Sunday?" I asked. "Not this Sunday, the one after that."

"I can."

"Great. I'll take Eva and Cuthbert back to their parents that day, and I'd like you to come along. Once we're there, we can discuss how and when Eva's going to be going back and forth to and from your tower."

"Am I going to have to ride a horse again?" Rowena asked.

"Yeah. Why?"

Rowena let out an aggrieved sigh. "It's sore-inducing and painful, not to mention awkward."

"They're the fastest form of land travel. Unfortunately."

"The _Ways_ are the fastest form of land travel," Rowena said. "Or flight, in Helga's case. Horses are… inefficient."

"Then make something better. I'd appreciate it."

"Hmm." She finished her food and wiped her mouth. "Thank you for the food. I'll see you next Sunday."

"See you next Sunday."

I led Rowena to the door, saw her out, and brought my wards back up. Then I went upstairs to my bedroom, and spent a good long while staring at the naked length of Amoracchius. I wasn't the right kind of guy to use that Sword properly, not for long. I wasn't, really, that patient or tolerant or loving. The last time I'd used Amoracchius, I'd wielded it in anger and almost gotten it destroyed. And just because I had it, didn't mean I had to use it.

But. But. I'd just spouted out a whole Knightly spiel downstairs about choice and preserving it. So I kind of walked right into this.

Slowly, grudgingly, I looked up at the ceiling.

"Fine, Uriel," I said. "Just this once."


	64. Chapter 5-IV

**April 1070**

You know, the first two days of April, part of me hoped that Lucille could somehow manage to reel Robert in and I could chalk the whole go-to-vampire-France talk up to being an April Fools' joke. But opening my front door on the third day to find Lucille standing there along with Tim and a serious expression put paid to that.

"Bad news?" I asked.

"Very," she said.

"Of course. Well, seeing as you're here in person…" I stepped back and waved for them to enter.

"Not going to welcome us in?" Tim asked.

"As a general rule I'm rather picky about who I verbally invite past a threshold," I said. "So?"

They folded. Once we were all sat around my dining table, I asked, "Just to make sure, you're here about the trip to Mortain, right?"

"Yes. Why, is there any other impending catastrophe I should be aware of?" Lucille asked.

"No. Just a little surprised you didn't talk him around," I said.

"How could I, when you've practically barred me from using my Hunger?" she asked archly.

I blinked, her response throwing me off. I mean, yeah, I'd basically told her to stop feeding off and controlling people, and she seemed to do that, but I just hadn't really expected her to do it completely, go cold turkey.

It surprised me. And it rather changed the tone of my offer.

"I… uhm, okay," I said intelligently. Looking for a change of topics, I glanced at Tim. "What are you aiming for, if your father shows up? Both of you?"

The siblings both grew still, and by the heightening tension it was obvious this was something of a sore point.

"Whatever my sister decides, I'm with her," Tim said. The words and phrasing sounded rehearsed, but the tone sounded earnest, genuine.

I looked over at Lucille.

"I want him dead," she said. "I will accept any arrangement that keeps him and his influence far away from me."

I nodded and crossed my arms. "Okay. Well, here's what I can offer. If your father shows up, I'll meet with him. And then I'll tell him that you're under my protection and to fuck off, politely. But unless he seriously pisses me off, or genuinely threatens my life, I'm not killing him."

Lucille did not seem happy about that, at all. She had the kind of expression that you'd shoot someone who told you to "be reasonable" over something completely unreasonable, like pineapple on pizza. I'd probably shot Sanya and Michael the same look when standing over a gloating Cassius. It felt weird being on the receiving end of one of those glares.

Finally, she forced out a quick, "Fine."

I flipped my palms towards her before settling them back into the crooks of my arms. "Okay. How do you think your father is going to show up?"

"Grandly. He always seemed to enjoy attention," Lucille said, venom seeping into her tone.

"Do you think he'll be there when we arrive? In Mortain, or Maine?" I asked.

"Mortain, no," she said, starting to shake her head only to pause. "Or… unlikely. I suppose he could have agents here, watching us, but unless Robert tells everyone right away… no, there likely isn't enough time for him to hear and arrive. Maine seems more likely. Why do you ask?"

"I'm trying to figure out how much time I have to prepare," I said. And how long I would have to wait; for example, if I wanted to brew a set of escape potions, I'd need to do that a few days before the meeting at best, ideally a day before. And if I didn't know when that was going to happen, that was a problem.

Also, I needed to work out some way of veiling or otherwise concealing or protecting Elfleda, just as a backup. The blending potion was a good start, but it definitely wasn't a one-size-fits-all solution.

"Besides that, Timothy," I was getting better at adding the other bits on to Tim, even as I Anglicized the pronunciation, "I need a practice partner."

"For what?" he asked guardedly.

"Swordfighting," I said, pointing to where my Warden sword sat sheathed. "I've used that sword exactly one time in the past year and that wasn't even a real fight. If I'm potentially going to be fighting a vampire, or multiple, I want practice. And I also need someone I could use magic against."

"You could pick any of the guards to do that. They spin the wildest tales about you," Tim said.

"None of them are vampires. And there's a pretty big gulf between thinking and joking that I'm a wizard and actually facing me down," I said.

Tim sighed, hummed under his breath for a few moments, then sighed again. "Very well. The opportunity to hit you does appeal to me, I must admit."

"Haha," I said dryly. "Meet up four hours after noon by the north gate, then go find somewhere relatively private to practice, by the edge of the woods?"

"That works," he said. "Starting today?"

I turned around and looked out the windows that opened into the main room, trying to judge the time. I'd canceled lessons for today since I didn't know when the Renouths would arrive, and I'd eaten lunch, which meant that it was sometime after noon. Beyond that, I didn't know.

I shrugged and turned back to Tim. "Why not?" 

* * *

It took the better part of an hour to sort things out, mostly on Tim's end – grabbing blunted swords and armor and all that – though there was also a moderately lengthy period of walking and searching. Nothing really interesting happened in that time so I'll just say we crested the edge of the woods, found a small grove set into the tree line like the gap in a C, and skip to the interesting bit:

"Have you ever actually fought before?" Tim asked skeptically. "With a weapon, I mean."

"Yeah. With my staff, mostly," I said. And guns, but, well, the closest I could get to that was a crossbow, and those took two hands. I guess I could try a hand crossbow, but I don't think anyone really made those, so getting one would probably be expensive and difficult. Not to mention rather pointless and you know what let me just move past this tangent. "Why do you ask?"

Tim pursed his lips. "To put it simply, you look like an idiot."

I looked down at what I was holding: staff in my right hand, sword in my left. It was a practice sword rather than my Warden sword, so it was a bit heavier and a bit smaller. "What do you mean?"

Tim sighed and said, "Why don't I demonstrate." Then he took his sword in his left hand, put his right behind his back, and came at me swinging.

I lost. I uh, don't really feel the need to go into any more detail than that.

"What is your coat even made of?" Tim asked once he was done demonstrating.

"Leather," I said. "It's just enchanted. What, did you think I wear this every day just because it looks cool?"

"Cool?" he asked, confused.

"Fashionable, I guess."

Tim gave me a skeptical look. "You have a very… interesting sense of fashion. Though I suppose it works for you."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked.

"Your paramour. But she's neither here nor there," Tim said. "Your weapons. I've never fought someone with a staff before but I can imagine the uses of wielding one with a two-handed grip, particularly if it is durable enough to not chip or break when blocking steel. And your sword is strong and seems well-suited for you. But together…" He shook his head. "You're using a sword in what I assume is your unpracticed off-hand, and you're wielding a staff almost as large as you are with one hand. Your form is awkward and awful and the only reason it isn't completely useless is because you have reach."

"That's why we're here practicing," I said, a little peeved.

"Practice is the work of months and years of dedication and effort. What do you actually hope to accomplish in two weeks?" he asked.

"Get some idea of how to fight someone like you while mixing in magic," I said.

"As I just saw, you didn't get the opportunity."

"Yeah, yeah, just wait a minute," I said, setting the practice sword down on the ground and looking at my staff.

Okay, so maybe I'd overestimated the viability of the Gandalf setup. I mean it could probably work but Gandalf was a… probably fictional demigod and I wasn't. And if I didn't have a magic sword on hand – technically two – I wouldn't be bothering with swords and would just stick to my staff. But I had swords that could be useful in different situations, and I needed my staff as a focus. So how to make this work?

"What is your sword even made of, anyway?" Tim asked. "It looks to be a very polished steel."

"Silver, actually," I replied.

"Silver," Tim said flatly. "And it broke my sword."

"It's magic. Duh."

He sighed. "Of course it is." He stepped back a little and started twirling his sword, simultaneously showing off and passing the time. "Why do you wish to use it? Especially with your left hand? Why not just stick with the staff?"

I didn't want to bring up Amoracchius, which was most of the reason I'd suggested this kind of practice to begin with. Instead, I said, "It's got abilities I find useful I can't replicate myself. The rest is personal. As to why the left hand, I need to hold my staff in my right hand."

"And why is that?"

"Because of the way magic is circulated," I said. "It comes in through the left and comes out through the right. If I switched my staff around that would make it useless. So it needs to stay in my right hand."

"And whatever your sword does is so important you simply must cripple yourself like this, despite the fact you did not bring it against the demon-bear?" Tim asked.

"Yes."

Tim rolled his eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh.

My main problem, as Tim had so eloquently pointed out to me, was that my arrangement was awkward. Well, there was also the inexperience, but there wasn't an easy way to solve that problem. Somehow, I needed to make it practical to wield a staff I couldn't really use defensively while using a sword I'd rarely really practiced with in my left hand.

I looked down from my staff to where my shield bracelet hung, just inside the sleeve of my duster.

Some people, I'm sure, may have questioned the efficacy of putting my shield bracelet on my left hand. Magic comes in through the left hand and comes out through the right, so surely that means the shield bracelet shouldn't work, right?

Well, no. It's true that magic mostly comes out through the right hand, but there's the key word: mostly. Wizards can do plenty of magic with their voice, for example, and I'd seen Morgan just use his foot, and some kinds of magic didn't technically require any physical medium at all. Hell, I'd even seen Luccio melt about thirty zombies with a needle of fire cast from her left hand; if that wasn't proof enough nothing would be. Magic isn't like a revolver, where you have to load bullets into the cylinder and fire them out of the barrel. It's more... fluid. But not necessarily efficient.

In a way, the left hand/right hand dynamic was a bit like a focus. It was real, it provided tangible benefits, made things easier, but if you had the will and conception and power, you could sidestep it. But I wasn't that experienced yet, and I didn't have the months to years it would take to get over that stumbling block.

But, while it might've been more effective initially to put the shield bracelet on the left hand, I hadn't for two very important reasons: because there is a strong association between using your left hand for defense, to hold a shield, which compensated for the initial inefficiency, and more importantly, to keep my right hand free. But if I was going to make this awkward style that even Luccio and Morgan generally didn't bother with _work_, I needed to make some compromises.

Now, if I held my sword in my left hand, I could either use the sword, or project a shield; not both. Which obviously was a bad thing, because as Tim had shown me, I really needed my shield to survive more than two seconds against a serious opponent with this setup.

So, I took my shield bracelet off my left hand, and put it on my right. I knew it would make it weaker for the first stretch, as I stepped away from the "shield on the left" belief, but I guess I had two to four weeks to figure out how to address that.

Tim arched an eyebrow at the switch, and it climbed higher when I bent down, picked up the practice sword again, and assumed a stance like a Roman soldier – holding my sword like I was going to thrust, and my staff like it was a shield.

"You look, somehow, even more of an idiot like that," Tim said.

"Just come at me," I said.

Our second exchange lasted as long as our first, but only because Tim backed up after his sword slid off my blue shield.

"That does change things," he allowed. "Though how long can you maintain that?"

"About… two to three hours just on its own," I said, doing some quick mental math. "Maybe five, ten, fifteen minutes if you hit me repeatedly, depending on how hard."

My shield, now that I thought about it, was probably really, obscenely good by current day standards. Most wizards and practitioners today probably only had to defend themselves against the ornery lower Fae, minor supernatural creatures, people with swords and spears, wild animals, and so on. And since those just didn't take that much energy to block, there probably wasn't much of an impetus to constantly improve a shield.

But I'd cut my teeth on loup-garou, vampires, Fallen, various magical heavyweights, and the almighty machine gun. I'd had to push and push the limits of what I could withstand with a shield just to stay alive.

Blocking the comparatively slow swings of a sword that came at me maybe twice a second at best was trivial compared to that.

Tim hummed thoughtfully, looking over my shield. "Then I suppose there are two questions. Can you avoid getting outflanked, and can you actually manage to land a hit."

I brought the practice sword back up. "Let's see."

We went back and forth for about ten minutes. It became clear very early on that Tim was just too fast for me to properly hit him, which boded poorly against any vampire that actually started drawing on their Hunger. My size gave me an advantage in pursuing Tim and keeping the pressure on, but an extra foot of height and the additional stride it gave me would mean little when a vampire decided it wanted to try being Usain Bolt for a bit. So I started mixing in small amounts of kinetomancy and aeromancy, pushing and pulling and nudging Tim off balance. And then I stopped.

Sure, it was nice to confirm that I could do the Jedi trick of moving people around, but against the kind of enemies I actually might use sword-and-staff against, small bits of magic weren't going to do much. I needed to get to the point where I could actually hit someone with my sword, because if I could get someone with my magic I'd already won against most opponents.

After that first set of proper sparring, we broke apart, and I took out a waterskin and chugged. Tim, the bastard, didn't even look fazed.

"What's your opinion on your father?" I asked. "Actually. You seemed to be holding something back when I talked with your sister."

"Lucille is… far more bitter about what we are. And understandably so," he said.

"And you're not."

"Not particularly," he said.

I almost asked him about the first woman he had to have killed. Almost. But then I thought of Thomas, and how there was basically no point blaming Thomas, Tim, or Lucille for their first kills. No one told them they were going to be a praying mantis the first time around.

"So you just don't care?" I asked instead.

"I do not particularly like my father, but I don't hate him the way Lucille does. Nor do I have any issue with what I am," he said. "Though, I must say I am not particularly interested in getting involved with whatever schemes he may be working on."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because it all just seems so pointless and risky," Tim said. "He's Constable of France, good for him. He's the third one, and both prior Constables only held their post for a few years. He must worry about his position within both the mortal courts and the White Court, maneuver and plot and scheme, be wary and deceitful and manipulative. And what does he get out of all that effort? More power, which he uses to accumulate more power?" He shook his head. "No, I've come to rather enjoy the life of a wandering sword. I get wine, women, and wealth in exchange for using my blade, which I am very good at. I don't face foes that realize the difficulty of killing me, I don't have to worry about getting scarred or maimed or crippled, there's little risk in anything I do. Why would I give that up?"

"That simple, huh?"

"Why make it more complicated?" he asked with a shrug.

"What about your sister, then?"

"She's my sister," Tim said simply. "I should look after her in place of my father, no?"

There wasn't anything to say in response to that, so we got back to sparring.

Tim's responses were interesting, assuming they were true. He was still being a vampire, still being a predator. But for the standards of the time, he wasn't being that bad, assuming he wasn't leaving a string of corpses or thralls wherever he went.

During our second break, I asked, "You know, I've been wondering for a while now: how did you end up doing the tax rounds? Seems like a bit of a boring job."

"Are you talking about how we met?" Tim asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, you're right, it is a boring job. A necessary one, but boring. I was never interested in it and it was easy to avoid being saddled with that task. But that time… that time I volunteered."

"Why?" I asked. "Did you have a change of heart?"

"Not before, no," Tim said. "After… perhaps. No, it was because I was rejected."

I furrowed my brow. "What?"

"Your paramour, Elfleda," Tim elaborated. "She and Lucille have been having their little courtly spats and intrigues for a while now, and since that was one of the only things my sister seemed to take actual interest in, I never really pursued Elfleda. No point in cutting the game short, you know. But she was there, and the years went by, and I worked my way through the rest of the ladies, so I got curious. And got rejected, soundly. Which was new, I admit. Oh, I've gotten demure responses and polite initial denials, but never a complete lack of interest. Which just made me more curious. And so we went a few times until a very public and somewhat humiliating rejection. I considered… a few options, and finally decided to distance myself for a little while and see who else was out there, around Berkhamsted."

"Which led you to flirt with Hilda and Eva," I said.

"I can't help it if women show interest in me, wizard."

"No, but you don't have to flaunt and reciprocate in front of everyone either, including father and son."

"Are you still upset about that? Nothing happened."

"Yeah, partly because of me," I said. "Who knows what Eadric would've done if I wasn't around to consult."

"He would've humiliated himself, that's what would've happened," Tim said.

"Maybe. Still would've been very messy."

"Perhaps," Tim allowed. "Though I'll note that you seem to have told almost everyone in your little circle about who and what I am and nothing has happened, so you may be over-exaggerating."

I frowned. "What?"

"Please, I'm not blind. Hilda went from eyeing me favorably to looking at me fearfully, Eadric, well, he scowled harder, and Eva can't seem to sort out what she wants to feel about me. Elfleda is much better at hiding it, enough that I can't really be sure, but it seems rather reasonable that if you told Eva then you would have told Elfleda. Really, the only one in your group who doesn't seem to know is Cuthbert."

"Does Lucille know?" I asked in a serious tone.

"No. Or at least, I haven't told her. She might've taken things poorly initially, and since then it just hasn't seemed important. You haven't told the earl, after all, or if you have he hasn't believed you. So far the secret's been preserved, which is what I really care about, and at this point the secret coming out would be almost equally as damaging to all of us. So why worry her about it?"

I looked at Tim, eyes slightly narrowed, and drummed my fingers against my staff. "I think," I said after a minute, "that you should tell her."

Tim's eyebrows shot all the way up to his forehead like a surprised deer. "I'm sorry?"

"If you're as observant as you say you are, you can't have missed the trust issues she has with you," I said. "And if she learns you've been keeping secrets from her, and not the minor, personal kind either, I really don't think she would take it well."

"And how do you know that?" Tim asked, a slight edge to his voice.

"Because I saw her soul," I said bluntly. "The core of her being. She's cold and bitter because she feels she's been betrayed by everyone. You want to contribute to that?"

"…no."

"Then tell her," I said. "And if you're worried about her reaction, well, to paraphrase what you said, we're all in the same boat." I frowned slightly. "Maybe even literally so."

* * *

Author's Note: Harry's got a lot of intense, personal experience when it comes to people springing unpleasant secrets on him.


	65. Chapter 5-V

**April 1070**

Berkhamsted Castle did not explode over the course of the next two weeks, and Elfleda didn't report any issues, and Tim's still alive, so I think it's safe to assume that Lucille took the news reasonably well.

Reasonably.

Elfleda had been a little peeved at what I told Tim to do, but only a little; she'd acknowledged that, if Tim knew, there wasn't much of a point in keeping Lucille in the dark, and since I hadn't mentioned Elfleda or Eva's magic at all it didn't really change things.

I changed things up in the training with Tim, switching out staff for blasting rod, or just forgoing any foci at all and switching between a two-handed and one-handed grip as necessary. The latter two were definitely more convenient, but none of them solved the main issues: if I wasn't going to hold my staff, where would I keep it when fighting? What would I do if I needed an evocation that didn't involve fire?

And no, I'm not getting a wand. Maybe a carrying strap on my staff would work.

Anyway, the next two weeks were very busy for me. Between brewing potions, helping Eva with her carving, running laps, training with Tim, and sort of, kind of, maybe properly dating Elfleda, I had very little free time. By the time the third week rolled around and Eva and Cuthbert started making preparations to go back home, I felt like a guitar string that had been pulled really, really, really tight.

Then, once Rowena returned, I once more went through the process of renting her a horse, picked up the kids and the guards from the castle, and we all set out towards Dorham.

It took about as long to get to Dorham as it had to get to London, on account of the fact that we had horses for the guards on the way to London, because they were rentals. That wasn't really the case for this trip. As a result, we arrived in the evening, near nightfall, and there was somewhat of a scramble at the manor once we all rode up – the guards elected to just go to the village after getting the go-ahead from Cuthbert.

After the initial period of surprise, benign confusion, staring at the owl and puppy, welcomes, and a quick message to a no doubt soon-to-be-irritated cook to double the portions for dinner, we all ended up in the manor's quaint, cramped dining room. The realization that my townhouse had a bigger dining area even if I cut out the hearth and the shelf-space threw me for a bit of a loop; the amount of space I had just hadn't really hit me up until that point.

God, how had I managed to live in my hut for two years without going insane?

Hilda started off the dinner-table conversation by asking, "You are heading off to France?"

I nodded and lightly sipped at the too-warm watered ale. "Yeah. The earl has some personal business to see to in Mortain, and then there's some rebellion or something he's supposed to look into."

Months apart from Eadric had caused his scowls and expressions to blur together in my memory into one indistinct eadricy blob. Seeing him in person again helped untangle them. There was the regular Eadric-scowl, which doesn't warrant much mention at this point, the "you said something I disagree with" scowl, which is what the term eadric represents, and then there was the "you mentioned Normans" scowl, which I'm not sure how to categorize. Call it neadric? Does it even need a term?

I suppose I can give it a trial run.

Eadric neadriced at the mention of Mortain and France and all that and yeah, you know what, that word just looks off. "And why are you going?"

"Because I want to protect the vampires you really don't like from their somewhat-and-possibly-horribly abusive father because I see some similarities there between me and them," was probably not the right answer in this situation. Instead I said, "I'm part of his court. He pays me. I need his help."

"I think that what Eadric was trying to say is why are you going alone," Hilda said, laying her hand on her husband's.

"I'm not sure how long the whole thing will take," I said. "Could be a few weeks, could be a few months. Either way there won't really be any good opportunities to teach Eva, and after nearly a year apart I figured it would be better to have Eva and Cuthbert spend some time with you rather than carting them off to France."

"I appreciate that," Eadric said, managing to inject sincerity into his tone. It sounded like a great achievement. "What do you need his help with?"

I gestured sideways to Rowena, who was sitting there somewhat awkwardly picking at her bread. "As I mentioned earlier this is Rowena. She's a friend and a partner in a group project." I waited a few seconds to see if Rowena was going to contribute anything, and then added, "Essentially, the two of us and a few others are looking to found an expansive school. Literacy, natural philosophy, medicine, and magic." I drank some more ale, decided it wasn't getting any warmer, and started munching on the bread on my plate. "And for that we need funding and introductions to the rest of the nobility, among other things."

"A school?" Hilda asked. "For who?"

"Well, ideally, I'd like it to be open to everyone, but more realistically it's going to be for those that can pay," I said. "And the nobility. But I repeat myself." I followed bread with ale and wiped my mouth. "And anyone with magic, since that was our original goal. I'd say we're probably closer than we expected to be at this point, but we're still… a year or two off before the most optimistic start date, I'd say."

"You never told me about that," Eva said, her tone curious.

I paused in the middle of breaking more bread and fell back on our partnership's seeming go-to answer: "It just never came up."

"What will that mean for me?" she asked.

"Probably only good things," I said. "I can teach you the basics, the philosophy, and methodology, but when it comes to more advanced magical theory I sort of lag behind. And by that point you would have been my apprentice for about two years, if not three, so you'd be fairly well along and free to explore your own interests. Plus, you'll have more time to learn and apprentice since we won't be having to go through the whole rigmarole we're currently going through with you coming and going from my house."

"Rigmarole?" Hilda asked hesitantly.

"He does that sometimes, uses nonsense words and expects us to know what they mean," Eva said.

I gave her a look, which she ignored and went on to say, "I think he's referring to the way Elfleda comes with me to his house so people think he's courting her rather than doing anything with me."

"Elfleda. Your father mentioned her. She's your… guide, yes?"

"That's a good way to put it," Eva said.

"Can you tell me about her?"

"Well, she's… she's very clever, and helpful. Tall, though not huge like Harry, and pretty. I think she and Harry have been courting for months, but there's… something going on there," Eva said.

I sighed and drank some ale. "We weren't, and now we are. That's all there is to it."

"Oh. Good," Eva said.

I rolled my eyes and looked over at Rowena, who seemed confused by the conversation. "You can tell your mother the rest later. I've got something I need to discuss first." I ate some more bread, followed it with some more ale, and sat back in my chair. "While I'm off in France, Rowena has agreed to continue Eva's education, if traveling arrangements can be worked out."

"Traveling arrangements?" Eadric asked.

"I live in Hogsmeade," Rowena said. "Which is…" She trailed off and looked at me.

"It's a village about three days ride to the northwest," I said. "Maybe four if you're slow. 's got a big stone tower right outside it."

"Yes. I live there," Rowena finished.

"We would be willing to host you," Hilda said slowly.

Rowena shook her head. "Sorry, but I am not willing to leave my home unattended for extended periods of time."

"How do you not know where your home is in relation to Dorham, despite traveling here?" Eadric asked.

"I don't really travel around England in the usual ways. I use the Ways," Rowena said.

"Should we be telling them that?" I asked. "I mean, not that I care much in this instance, but isn't it White Council policy to not mention them?"

Rowena looked at me and blinked. "Is it? I don't really keep track of Council policy."

I considered that for a few moments, then shrugged. "Makes sense, I guess." I turned to Eva. "Eva, explain it."

Eva furrowed her brow in confusion. "Why?"

"Because usually, a good sign that you actually understand what you've learned is if you can clearly explain it to someone who has no clue what you're talking about," I said.

"Alright," she said slowly, then turned to face her parents. "The Ways are… kind of like a road system. Just not in this world, but a reflection of it called the Nevernever." She turned to look at me briefly. "Who named it that, anyway?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," I said.

She seemed unhappy at that response, but after a second turned back to her parents. "I don't know much more about it, but places in the Nevernever are supposed to connect to places in our world on a symbolic or emotional level. So somewhere dark and cramped will connect to somewhere dark and cramped, but you could go ten feet in either world to a slightly different place and end up somewhere completely different."

"B-plus," I said. "Good explanation, missed a few details."

"B-plus…?" Eva asked.

This time, I ignored her. "To summarize, think of it like taking a shortcut. If you know it's there, and you know how to walk it, you can really cut down on the travel time." I turned to look at Rowena. "What's the Way you took to get to Berkhamsted, anyway? Did you use… the City?"

Rowena shook her head. "The flow of time there is inconsistent. No, there's a Way that comes out in Berkhamsted Forest." She turned to face Eva and the parents. "If it's too difficult to have her come to and from Hogsmeade by horse, I could take her along that particular Way; it's perfectly safe."

"Then why did you never take it?" Eadric asked me.

"Second, because I didn't know it existed until now," I said. "And first, that Way is perfectly safe, and most of the charted Ways are relatively safe for wizards and witches, but in my particular case none of the Ways are safe."

"Why?" Hilda asked, just before her husband asked, "Does this have anything to do with that Queen you're running from?"

Everyone in the room turned to look at Eadric, and I let out a long sigh. "Yes. Yes it does."

"When did you tell him?" Eva asked, looking my way.

"On my first trip to Berkhamsted, after we got attacked by redcaps," I said.

"I'm sorry, Queen?" Hilda asked.

I sighed. "Alright, very short summary. You've heard of faeries, right?"

Hilda nodded.

"Well there are three groups: Summer, Winter, and Wyldfae. Forget about the last one for now. The first two are collectively called the Faerie Courts, and they're ruled by Queens. The Winter Queen has been half-heartedly pursuing me for years now."

"Pursuing you?" Hilda asked.

"She wants to have sex with me," I said bluntly. "Among other things. And right now she's barring me from the Ways until I give in."

Hilda looked beyond confused. To be fair, so did Eadric and Cuthbert.

"That's it?" Eadric finally asked.

"You really underestimate the downsides here," I said. "It's never some one-and-done affair with her. Not being able to use the Ways is a pain, but I'll live with it."

"Is Eva in danger?" Hilda asked.

"No," I said. "Whatever else you can say about her, and there's a lot, the Winter Queen is true to her word. I'm barred from the Ways, not everyone involved with me. And more broadly…" I finished the ale. "Well, to be blunt, if she wanted to get to me through anyone else, like Eva or Elfleda, she would've already done so and there is no way I could've stopped her. But she hasn't, so it's not a problem. Especially because she wants me to come to her willingly and not because I was made to, so it's actively counterproductive to try and take hostages."

Awkward silence reigned for an indeterminate period of about thirty seconds, and was finally broken by Rowena asking, "The travel arrangements?"

* * *

Author's Note: Inside Rowena's head: _Awkwaaaard_.


	66. Chapter 5-VI

**April 1070**

That partially rerailed the conversation, with the ultimate conclusion that Eva was going to be going by horse, thank you, after a week at the manor.

Rowena nodded and then promptly checked out for the rest of the night.

From there the conversation moved to more mundane, safe topics, like what Eva was doing, what Cuthbert was doing, what was up with the pets, how Cuthbert's love life was progressing, and at that point I excused myself and Rowena and left the family to their discussion-slash-interrogation.

Rowena looked so relieved as we were led off.

We headed back to Berkhamsted in the morning, with Rowena dismounting and peeling off as we reached the forest. I brought the rented horse back, and went to my house to do a final round of packing for the journey. The next morning, before I headed off to the castle to join the convoy, I turned off my heating system once again. I was fairly confident it was set for the transitional seasons – spring and autumn – and could handle itself fine in winter, but I didn't know what issues might crop up in summer and I didn't want to accidentally start a fire, especially if the French Expedition dragged on.

Moving about a hundred people – nobles, guards and soldiers, servants – and all the necessary horses wasn't some instant and easy thing, and preparations had been going on for days. Fortunately, I didn't really have to deal with that, though I felt for the people who did. In any case, late in the third week of August, a column of men and women, some mounted, some not, set out from Berkhamsted.

The journey to London took almost two whole days, and we arrived late in the evening, though we didn't go to the actual city. Instead, we stopped a little west and cut south, towards the Palace of Westminster. As we rode through the gates into the palace, Robert told me that his older brother Odo was in London after all, and he would try and arrange a meeting for me sometime around tomorrow evening. Part of me wondered why it couldn't be handled earlier, we were probably all going to be in the same place, but on the whole I was fine with a late meeting. Dinner was great, and the bed was nice, for the era. Not the best I'd ever slept in, but still fairly good. Guess there were perks to living in a royal palace, though I wasn't going to make a habit of it.

The whole edifice was made predominantly of stone, and considering the sheer size must've cost the Saxons a fortune to make. The walls were a good twenty feet high, though I couldn't tell the thickness; it looked like fifteen feet from the outside, but some of that must've been empty space for hallways and store and guardrooms. Past the walls though, it looked like the architects had traded defense for grandeur and comfort. There wasn't a proper castle, no real towers, just sprawling buildings mixed with wide open ground. Coming in from the north, there were two main buildings of note: the palace to the left, and the tall, almost cathedral-like Westminster Abbey to the right.

And there, I've fulfilled my duties to the future generations of historians and architects that will probably never read this journal. I'm going to sleep now. 

* * *

Neither the Saxons nor the Normans had any proper conception of breakfast – except for Rowena, it seemed – so after scrounging some bits of bread as a starter, I went looking for Elfleda. I found her wandering the grounds, walking around the outside of the palace looking upon it with mild interest. She turned to face me when I was still a few dozen feet away, probably forewarned by the slight dip in temperature, or something minor only she could see. I wasn't sure.

"Good morning, Harry," she said when I walked up, offering an arm to me. "Care to walk the grounds with me?"

"Sure," I said. I took her arm – it was easier than fighting or turning her down – and added, "Though I was more thinking about spending the day in London."

She turned her head to look at me curiously.

"You wanted to go see the magical district," I said. "And we're here. Or close. Unless you've changed your mind?"

Elfleda smiled. "No, I haven't. But don't you have a meeting of sorts?"

"Not until 'the evening', whenever that is. So…" I glanced up in the vague direction of the sun. "Eight to ten hours or so. Something like that. Plenty of time."

Her smile widened. "Then lead on."

The day was fairly nice so we skipped on horses, and instead decided to walk over to London. We didn't really talk on the way over; Elfleda mostly hummed various tunes under her breath while looking over the Thames and the marsh on the other side, while I, who sucked at vocalizing, just listened and enjoyed. I didn't really get why Westminster Palace was so far outside London – even if there wasn't that much space inside the walls, you'd think they would at least put it up to the walls – but at least it made the walk nice.

Well, except for the overcast sky, but it was England after all; at least it wasn't raining.

As we passed the Roman-style walls and entered the city, I asked, "Do you want to go straight to Diagon Alley, or wander around first?"

"Diagon Alley?" she asked, glancing my way.

"It's the name of the district. Apparently."

"I see," she said, and hummed for a few moments. "I think I would prefer to wander first, to better appreciate whatever differences there may be."

The problem with medieval tourism was that there were only a few genuinely interesting places to visit and pieces of architecture to marvel at. London had a lot of churches even now, but neither of us were interested in visiting any of them. The Tower of London, which might've been impressive centuries from now, was currently a timber fort, as were the other two castles in the city. But, if Elfleda wanted to see the differences, then the best place to start would be Cheap Ward, the actual main market district.

We didn't end up buying anything, besides some hawked food of questionable origin and passable beer, a staple part of any inner city dive. We did, however, take at least a quick look into most shops, the clothiers, cordwainers, jewelers, woodworkers, and of course the bars.

By the time we were done with our tour of Cheap it was getting close to noon, so I figured it was time to actually visit the Alley. We came in through the opposite end of the Alley since we were closer, and headed to the tavern that was right there: the Cracked Cauldron, complete with symbolic accompaniment hanging from the overhang.

On a superficial level, the Cracked Cauldron was like McAnally's. The similarities struck me the moment I walked inside, hard enough I had a flash of déjà vu. There were thirteen thin, lightly rounded columns of dark wood, interspersed between thirteen tables, all laid out before a bar at the back. I looked around, half-expecting to see a sign with "ACCORDED NEUTRAL GROUND" on it. When I didn't spot one the feeling passed, and the differences started to set in. There were five stools at the bar rather than thirteen, the individual tables were smaller, there were no booths, no fans, the smell of smoke, fresh bread, and roasting meat was slightly off, and the entire place felt far more cramped.

And the biggest difference was the main behind the bar: mid-thirties, average height, brown-haired, and a bit pudgy.

The cramped confines were full with people, making the place feel bizarrely larger. Not as many as in McAnally's, an average day could see dozens of people in there throughout the day, but still kind of close, maybe thirty in all. Did London have a disproportionately large supernatural community, or were my imagined proportions off?

Then again, it was lunch-time. Maybe that was the outlier.

The layout of the place, meant to disperse and divert any dangerous energies that might accompany any grouchy wizard types into the tavern – prime example, me – blunted the effects of my aura, but the unexpected "gust" of cold air must've hit everyone anyway, because over the course of a few seconds everyone turned to look at me.

"Howdy," I said. I quickly looked over the faces of those present and spotted a familiar one. "Hey Geraint."

"Harry," the wandmaker replied.

Like that, things started going back to normal. I finagled my way over to the one free table and pulled out a chair for Elfleda, then went over to the bar to order. I spotted something interesting on my approach: a wooden board hanging from the back, with French writing on it and something that looked a lot like prices.

"Hey. I'm Harry," I said to the bartender, taking a seat on an open stool.

"Tom," the man replied. He wore a gray-brown tunic and trousers under a white apron, and had moved away from a discussion he'd been having from a man who looked to be on the good side of sixty.

"You have a menu?" I asked, pointing at the board.

"For the Normans," Tom replied. "Don't think you'll need it though."

"Probably not," I said. "What've you got?"

Tom rattled off a truly impressively long list of meals and drinks. I settled on properly alcoholic beer and played it safe with the meal, ordering a mix of meats and soup similar to what I prepared at home. Tom grunted and took my money, and I went back to the corner table, setting my staff against the wall.

Interestingly, I'm pretty sure he charged me less than what the menu said.

"Have you ever been in a place like this before?" I asked Elfleda.

"No," she said. She'd shuffled her chair around until her back was to the rest of the room. "It's very… quaint."

"It's not a problem is it?"

"No, just new. I'll acclimate," she said. "What is sold here? In the Alley."

"Well, food, drink, and from what I've seen personally, wands, wood carvings, animals, books, and book supplies. I also saw a clothier mixed with jeweler and a general goods store."

"Books?" Elfleda asked.

"Mostly in English or Latin, unfortunately," I said. "Though there might be some Greek ones in there? I didn't really check."

"Mmm. Clothier mixed with jeweler? Not separate?"

"Not according to their sign. 'Ceadda and Godiva's Clothes and Gems'," I recited from recent memory. "My guess is a husband and wife pair, or sibling pair."

We passed the next five minutes talking about my first time in the Alley, at which point Tom brought over a large wooden platter and set out the various plates, drinks, and cutlery – no forks.

"I should've brought forks with me," I grumbled as Tom walked off.

"And why didn't you?" Elfleda asked, taking a sip of her beer.

"Well, I did, but it's in my bags. I didn't think to bring any here," I explained.

"Ah."

"Yeah. Anyway, can I get your input on my meeting?" I asked.

"Of course," she said, rolling back her left sleeve before proceeding to cut up the meat, using her hand to hold it in place. "With the earl's brother, correct?"

"Yeah, Odo," I said.

"Mmm. To begin with, I would suggest avoiding that level of familiarity and informality. You are dealing with the second-most powerful man in the kingdom and a bishop, and you have never met him before. Unless, of course, you are not trying to convince him to help you."

"No, I am. Be polite," I said. "Anything more specific or insightful?"

"With the way you frequently ignore the basics, it bore reiterating," she chided. "Anything more specific depends on what you are asking for, specifically."

"Well, the school," I said.

"Yes, yes," she waved dismissively. "The school. What do you want from the bishop in that regard?"

I considered if it was possible to use a knife as a kind of fork, decided no, and started eating with my right hand, my left being gloved. "Well, he's the Earl of Kent. Bit weird to me he holds land, but whatever. I'd like him to agree with the vision for the school, and help spread it among his vassals. And ideally, get the Church's support; that would be a major benefit."

"That could be tricky," she said. "I think you should start with the idea and the importance of scribes. Every lord needs scribes. From there, you will need to determine if the bishop is open to being swayed by idealism, which I don't believe to be terribly likely, or whether you will need more pragmatic, transactional arguments."

"What's the ideal argument?" I asked.

"That learning more about how God ordered the world is a holy endeavor, that education engenders greater appreciation and understanding of the world, other such thrusts. I doubt that making such an argument will hurt your position, but on its own it will almost certainly not be enough."

"And the rest?" I asked.

"You cannot ask him the same as you did of the earl. You have Robert's favor, which opens certain doors, but the bishop will likely not propagate your vision unless he sees something in it for himself."

"Great," I said.

"What did you expect? Charity, from conquerors?" she asked. "The question is what you can offer, and are willing to give up."

I sighed and munched on some chicken as I thought. "Well, not money, obviously. And I can't promise anything major regarding the school, not without a group discussion. And I don't have the time to look into any problems he might have right now, unless they're in… Bayeux and we stay for a while."

"It doesn't need to be immediate," she said. "It could be conditional. If you argue the point of the scribes well enough you could well get him interested, just not fully on your side."

"Yeah, but I'd prefer to just get it done in one go. Trouble is I can't offer him anything significant."

"A favor?" she asked.

"Horrible, bad idea, unless I can attach enough conditions to it that it can't come back to bite me," I said.

"Owls?"

"What about them?" I asked.

"Could you offer them, or do they only work for those with magic."

I chewed my lip briefly. "That is a very good question. That I should get an answer to." I hummed thoughtfully. "That could work, maybe. I'd have to check that I wouldn't be majorly pissing off the Council by doing that, but that could work. And I do sort of have the money for that." Then I looked down at my duster. "Maybe some long-term enchantments too. I'd have to think about that." I nodded at Elfleda. "Thanks."

"My pleasure."

"Though, there is something else I wanted to ask, related to the meeting," I said.

"Yes?"

"My last talk with Robert went... decently well, but the last few conversations with powerful people in general has really brought into the focus the fact that I get annoyed easily–"

"Could you mayhaps stop meandering around the point?" she asked.

"I've made a focus for a mixed illusion-communication spell that makes someone look like me," I said. "And that lets me hear through the focus and talk back silently to the person holding it."

Elfleda frowned and cocked her head slightly. "Are you asking me to masquerade as you in the meeting? To argue in your place?"

"Basically," I said.

Elfleda blinked and sat back. She was silent for a few moments, and then asked, "What are the limitations of this... glamour?"

"Should be fairly complete," I said. "It's a paired set of dolls. You keep one on you, I hold onto the other, and so long as I maintain the spell you look and feel exactly like me, at least outwardly. It doesn't actually change your physical shape though, it just makes you look taller, so you'd need to avoid physical interaction with other people."

"I would sound like you?" she asked.

I nodded. "But you'd still have your ability to see emotions, and while you couldn't directly talk back to me, I would be able to hear everything you and Odo say, and give you commentary or leads as necessary."

"Why didn't you ask this of me earlier?"

"Because before that last day, I hadn't finished it. Technically, it's still untested, though it won't take long to see if it works or if we have to stick with plan a, being me talking with Odo. And until it was finished, there wasn't really a point in asking you," I explained.

She nodded. "I see. Well, I suppose I could disguise myself as you and go in your place, but for a price."

"I figured," I said. "Name it."

"I want you to get me something from this Alley, something special," she said.

I tapped the back side of my knife against the plate a few times. "I can agree to that, but I'm not sure what you'd consider special from here, especially since I haven't been in much of the Alley. How about we see if you like anything here and go from there?"

"That sounds eminently reasonable," she agreed.

The tavern steadily emptied as we ate, people leaving once they'd eaten their lunch. By the time we finished, there were only ten other people in the tavern including the proprietor, and after returning the various plates, cups, and knifes, we made our way back out into the Alley. From there, after a quick discussion, Elfleda managed to pull me into the Clothes and Gems.

It wasn't like a department store, which was the only example I had to compare this kind of place to. Or at least not exactly. There weren't any mannequins or racks or anything like that, and actual clothes seemed to be a bit rare, with spools of fabric laying around instead. But there were shoes, gloves, cloaks, hats, along with various forms of jewelry.

There was only one other person in the store, a black-haired woman of average height who looked to be in her early forties. She was knitting when we walked in, and kept doing so for a few seconds before looking up and blinking.

"Hello," she said, putting aside her knitting. "How are you today?"

"Good," Elfleda said. "Very good." She looked around the store slowly before falling back on the woman – Godiva, presumably. "Tell me, what kind of clothes do you sell? There don't seem to be many."

"Ah, that's because this is the stock we sell to the more mystically inclined," Godiva said. "Which means most of it is sturdy work attire. If you're looking for dresses though we certainly have some."

"I would like to see them then, in a little while," Elfleda said.

"Of course. Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"Not particularly," Elfleda said, beginning to walk around the various clusters of items.

"And you?" Godiva asked, looking my way.

"I'm with her," I said, nodding at Elfleda.

Godiva nodded and looked back at Elfleda, who had moved right past the shoes, spent a little while looking over the gloves, and had now come to the hats. She picked up a big dark gray hat, wide-brimmed and curling slightly near the ends a little like a sombrero, and then walked back to me with it. "Well?" she asked, trying to put it on me.

I sighed and suffered the hat for two seconds before gently taking it off. "I don't do hats," I said.

Elfleda gave me a disappointed look, then sighed after I weathered it. She put the hat back where she found it, then moved to the cloaks. "What is special about these?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at Godiva.

"They're tough to tear and stains don't stick to them long. Small spills just go right off, larger ones are rather easily scrubbed off. You would need to go play in mud like a pig to get anything to stay," Godiva said. "Enchantments last about two years. We renew them for a small fee if you can't manage it yourself."

Elfleda looked the other way at me, and I shrugged. "Not sure about the anti-stain, never tried anything like that, but the rest I can manage."

"Do you work with clothes?" Godiva asked me.

"Sort of," I replied. "I'm a wizard. I enchant a lot of my own stuff." I picked at the collar of my duster. "For one, this is stronger than a coat of mail."

"Impressive," Godiva said with some jealousy.

Elfleda went through the cloaks until she found one she liked, then drew it out to its full size. After making sure it looked right, she walked over to me, took off her current cloak, passed it to me, and tried on the new one. It fit, and she nodded, then nudged me.

I, in turn, moved up to Godiva. "How much?" I asked.

She named a price that was on the expensive side but also fairly reasonable for what was on offer, and I dug the payment out of my coin pouch, taking care not to drop her old cloak.

Then Elfleda moved towards the jewelry, and my pockets started feeling miraculously lighter.

"Harry, come have a look at this," she said.

I moved closer to look, and she held up a silver necklace. It had an extra bit at the bottom, a tearstone-shaped sapphire gem set upside down into a silver, rhomboid frame with etchings all around. It looked very, very expensive.

"It looks nice," I said.

Elfleda gave me an appraising look. "And is that all?"

"It would look good on you…?"

She rolled her eyes. "It looks rather _special_, don't you think?" she asked.

I clicked my tongue and sighed. "Well…"

It did. It looked like the best piece in the store. It also looked really expensive.

"May I see?" Godiva asked, getting up from her seat and walking over. Elfleda turned to show her, and she said, "Ah. That one."

"Is it magic, or just well made?" Elfleda asked.

"It's a ward-charm," Godiva said. "Protects against bad luck, curses, dangerous energy, the like."

I tried not to grimace. I mean, I believed her, it probably was, may have even been a good one, but unless she or her husband were wizards I could probably make a better enchantment. And in the meantime, I'd have to end up paying for it.

Elfleda caught my twitch. "What?" she asked.

I sighed and held out my hand. "May I, for a second?"

Elfleda passed me the necklace, and I turned around until I was staring at the ground, the necklace the only magical thing in my field of vision. I opened my Sight, spent a few seconds inspecting the necklace and its wards, and then closed my Sight and passed it back.

"It's good, I like how the cutting on the gem structures and contains the wards," I said.

"But?" Elfleda asked.

"But while the work on this is exquisite, there's only so much you can do with a typical practitioner's level of power. No offense to you or your husband ma'am," I said, glancing at Godiva. "Though the design does seem to be durable, unlike most ward-items. Those tend to just break after they're hit, this one looks like it could be reused."

"My husband strives to do his best," Godiva said, her tone a little too calm and straight.

"Well, he is good," I said. "How much?"

She named a figure so large I could've bought a few villages with it. Most of the figure probably reflected the actual cost; that kind of necklace couldn't have come cheap and selling it at a discount would've seemed wrong. Part of it was probably gouging me. Either way, I didn't have the money.

But Elfleda clearly wanted it, so...

"One second," I said. I went to open the door and popped my head outside, trying to judge the time. Subtracting walking time, around five hours until we had to leave. Maybe six if I pushed it. Probably not enough time, but I could try.

"Alright," I said on the way back. I set my staff against the wall, put Elfleda's now-old cloak down, then carefully took off my duster. "How about a trade?"

Godiva eyed my duster critically.

"No, not the duster, I'm keeping that," I said. "It's what I've done to it, besides the toughness. I don't feel the temperature in this, hot or cold. Climate control. I can walk through a blizzard in this or stay out in the sun for a day and not sweat."

Godiva looked a lot more interested after my explanation. "And you are proposing to teach me this?"

"Yeah. So?"

Godiva looked at the necklace Elfleda was holding, and I could see the wheels turning in her head. The price point she'd quoted was out of reach of everyone I'd seen in the alley, more the type of expenditure rich nobles would indulge in. Her husband had probably made it just to push his limits, and ended up with an item his customers couldn't afford. Getting a new line of clothes was probably worth it – assuming I could teach her, of course.

"How long would this take?" she asked.

"That, I don't know. It depends on you," I said. "The main problem is I've only got five hours, and I'm not sure if that's enough time."

Godiva nodded idly. "How long would it take you to enchant a piece of clothing in such a way?"

"Depends on the size, but probably no more than half an hour," I said. "A lot less if I'm doing it to something small, like a glove."

"And are you leaving London soon?"

"Either tomorrow or the day after."

Godiva looked torn. "How about this," she said after a minute. "If you could enchant a few articles for me, I will try and recreate them. And if, by the time you come back, I've made sure the enchantments work as you describe and I can manage these enchantments, then you can have the necklace."

"What do you mean by manage?" I asked.

"Whether it's possible for me, even if it requires weeks of practice and work," she said.

I looked from Godiva to Elfleda, then my duster. Then I put it back on and said, "Alright. What would you like me to enchant?"

The articles turned out to be two gloves and a tunic. Fifteen minutes into the process, Elfleda pulled aside Godiva, and they disappeared through a door in the back, probably going to check out the actual clothes. They spent a worryingly long amount of time back there, and I got more than a little suspicious when Elfleda walked out with a small smirk and nothing in hand.

Fifty minutes after I started I handed the enchanted gloves and tunic back to Godiva, and after making our goodbyes we left the store.

"So, small problem as I see it," I said once we were outside. "The meeting's tonight, and I won't be getting that until tomorrow morning at the earliest."

"Yes, that is unfortunate – for you," Elfleda agreed. "I am still willing to masquerade as you, contingent on receipt of the necklace, but if that turns out to be impossible, that would leave you in my debt."

"I'm not sure I like your tone," I said half-seriously. "What would that mean for me?"

"Oh, simply that you would have to find... alternate means of paying that debt," she said, eyes sparkling.

I eyed her a little warily and said, "No sex."

She just laughed and nodded.

From there we went to the bookstore, where Elfleda browsed for ten minutes before deciding she wasn't going to buy anything. And after that, I popped into the Menagerie to ask about the owls. The answer wasn't quite what I'd hoped but was what I expected: you needed some amount of magic in order to properly call a messenger owl, just like you needed magic to call just about anything supernatural. That didn't actually rule out regular people, but it did mean there was an initial hurdle in teaching them enough magic so that they got the power to call an owl in the first place. Something to consider long-term then, rather than some up-front gift.

I offered to get Elfleda a cat or dog if she wanted, but she shook her head. After we left she decided she'd seen enough, so even though we still had plenty of time we started to make our way back to Westminster.

There were two discussions we had along the way, a short one as we were leaving the Alley, and a longer one while we were walking through the countryside between London and Westminster.

Talk the first: "You said your coat is stronger than a coat of mail," Elfleda said.

"Duster," I corrected. "And yeah, it is."

"Duster, then. Was it difficult to enchant?" she asked.

"Well, I wouldn't say difficult at this point, I've been improving and renewing this kind of protective enchantment for over a decade now. It's just a little time consuming at this point. Why, are you asking if I could do the same for you?"

"It would seem prudent," Elfleda said. "Considering your concerns about my safety."

"Yeah, and Ill probably have plenty of time on the way to Mortain to do the work. It's just... uh..."

"What?"

"I'd... need some of your clothes for that," I said awkwardly.

Elfleda glanced my way, eyebrow arched in amusement. "Yes, I realized," she said teasingly. She then hummed thoughtfully. "A cloak and a dress, then? To cover everything?"

"Maybe gloves too," I said, then glanced down at my own glove. "Though, I've never actually put a protective enchantment on a glove before. I'll have to see if I can actually manage it."

"Why have you never tried?"

"I didn't wear gloves originally, I preferred the manual dexterity and sense of touch. Then later working the enchantment into something that small was impractical, and I had other things to focus on, so I just... put it aside," I said. "Them and boots, really."

And talk the second: "I have been considering your concerns."

"Which ones?" I asked.

"Regarding the prospects of us staying together," she said. "Your concerns about my safety."

"Okay. And?"

"If your school is established and succeeds, you would spend much of your time there, yes? And it would be well warded?" she asked.

"As well as the four of us and anyone else that comes on can manage, yeah," I said. "And if we get our ideal location... well, not quite, connecting it to the school would be difficult..."

"Ideal location?" she asked.

"There's a place up in Scotland, under Edinburgh," I said. "The Hidden Halls. Supposedly it was the domain of a sidhe lord until Merlin won it from him in a bet. It sits on a large nexus of ley lines, so the wards on it could hold off anything short of a god. Trouble is that it's in Edinburgh, and our new idea requires a location in England proper, so squaring that circle is going to be a bit tricky."

"Mmm. So it is an excellent place to, how would you put it... ride out any unpleasantness," she said.

"Assuming we get it and can make things work, yes," I said. "But it's an underground complex and I doubt you want to spend the rest of your life under a hundred feet of rock, if not more."

"I do not, that is true," she agreed. "And in any case, I was considering a different solution."

"Yeah?" I asked.

"How would you feel about me were I to be a sidhe?" she asked.

I looked at her with a frown. "That is... not an easy question to answer," I said.

"Why not?"

"Because you wouldn't be human at that point," I said. "You wouldn't be... you, not exactly, not anymore. I mean, you said it yourself: Winter is cold, and cruel, and selfish. That's a hard thing to struggle against. And even ignoring the question of how it would change you, it wouldn't make you safer. In fact, it would just make it easier to get at you. Anyone that knew I was involved with you could summon and threaten you then. You'd get drawn in and involved with the politics of the Winter Court. You'd need power to survive all that, basically, and that pursuit will probably change you." I sighed. "It'd be easier if you could somehow go Summer or Wyldfae. Then I'd still have issues with the idea, but fewer."

"Would it be an immediate concern? Could you not then teach me how to wield magic and defend myself?" she asked.

"I mean, maybe," I said. "Some, certainly. But from what I understand faerie magic is a lot more instinctive. I'm not sure whether I could teach a sidhe anything. Even then, skill can only carry you so far. And that's all ignoring Mab."

"What about her?" she asked.

"Her new approach. The more I've thought about it, the less it makes sense. She wants me to come to her, but so far she hasn't done anything except bar me from the Ways. Which is inconvenient, sure, but if that's the price I have to pay to never deal with her again then I'll take it. But she seemed... too interested in me when she appeared, so I doubt she's just given up on me. There's something I'm missing, some angle I can't see, and so I'm hesitant to put you further into her power." I trailed off and looked down at Elfleda.

She looked curiously back at me. "What?"

"I'm wondering if you're involved somehow," I said.

She furrowed her brow. "How so?"

"Well, unless she just isn't paying attention to me anymore, then she has to know about you. About our relationship. I'm wondering if she's waiting for something to happen to you, something that might drive me to her."

"Like what?" she asked.

"I don't know. That's what worries me," I said. "Or maybe the paranoia's the angle. Get me so twisted up about what she might do that I call her up just to get it over with. I just don't know."

"Have you ever asked her?"

"Oh yeah, because I'd definitely get a straight answer from the Winter Queen," I said. "'Hey Mab, how do you plan to screw me over?'" I shook my head. "She'd just point me in one direction and blindside me from another." I sighed. "Now can we talk about something else? Something less terrifying and depressing?"

"Very well," Elfleda said. She hummed for a few moments and then said, "It occurs to me that we've known each other for a while now, but I don't know very much about you. Your history, your life before you arrived at Berkhamsted, your family."

"It's personal," I said.

"You know more about my family than I do about yours," she pointed out.

"Fair point." I took a deep breath. "Let's see. My mother, Margaret, died when I was born, or shortly after, so I never knew her. But I'm told she was a powerful witch. My father, Malcolm, died when I was six. He was... a traveling performer, I'd say. I... I barely remember him now."

"My condolences," she said.

"Thanks."

"Mmm. That wasn't as pleasant as I was hoping, and I imagine life as an orphan was even less so."

"It definitely wasn't fun."

"Then... when were you born?"

"On Samhain," I said. I didn't add a year; anything I said would've been a lie, and I didn't want to lie to her.

"Truly?" she asked, surprised.

"Yeah. Why?"

"It is the same for me," she said. "You should have told me last year. I would have done something."

"We'd only known each other for a few months by that point. It would've been awkward," I said.

Elfleda waved dismissively. "La. Details." She dropped her hand. "But what's done is done. It's something to look forward to this year, instead."

"Assuming we're still alive by then," I said.

"Again, details. Besides, I have confidence you'll prevail."


	67. Chapter 5-VII

**April 1070**

"A clay doll?" Elfleda asked, turning her half of the focus around in her hands.

It was more a figurine than a doll, and a rough one at that. It really only looked like me if you mixed a heavy alcohol binge with a concussion and then squinted through a layer of film, but it had, you know, the general features: a face, something that approached a kindergartener's artistic impression of hair, a duster, and a staff.

"If those are the kind of dolls you played with as a girl, I think I pity you," I said.

Elfleda snorted and shot me a look.

"It's one of a paired set," I said, raising up another, nearly identical, slightly better made clay figurine – the transmitter to Elfleda's receiver. "When you get down to it, it's pretty basic. Keep it on yourself, don't get too far away, in this case a quarter of a mile, and so long as I focus on and power my end, you'll look and sound and partly feel like me, I'll be able to hear anything said on your end, and you, and just you, will be able to hear anything I say."

"And this took you a few weeks to make?" she asked.

"A few weeks to kludge together, based on some items and foci I used to own," I said. "It has a lot of limitations, like not having a way for you to talk back to me, but for this purpose it should be fine. Should. Haven't actually tested it yet."

"A rather significant oversight, no?" she asked.

"Yeah. But I'm fairly confident in what I've done, and the part I'm most iffy about is the real-time link, not the sustainability," I said. "So, pass me that."

She did, and I lifted the pair of figurines to my mouth. I breathed on them, muttered some faux-Latin under my breath, and said, "Here, catch."

I tossed the receiver-figurine back to Elfleda, and when she caught there was a slight blur to her features, enough that I was worried that I had screwed up somewhere. Then the blur resolved and Elfleda metaphorically exploded into a tall man, too lanky and scarred to look altogether healthy, with one nasty scar cutting so close across one eye it should've been blind. His face was rough and disorganized, three days' worth of growing stubble making for one hell of a mess, and his hair looked like a rumpled mess of short waves.

I blinked and spent a few seconds staring at, well, myself, and then looked over the rest of the glamour to make sure it matched.

"Okay. You've got the duster but it's an illusion, and…" I heard an echo of my own voice, called my staff to my hand, and noticed that it didn't show up. "Okay, that's kind of good, it's properly differentiating between what I hold and what I wear, can you move your figurine to the other hand? Thanks, so that's not carrying over either." I nodded then looked back at mirror-me's face. "What am I looking at right now, from your perspective?"

"Thin air," said a voice that sounded like it had been dragged over a pile of rocks.

"And what are you doing right now?" I asked.

"Looking you in the nose," she said.

I checked the sightline of the illusion and then nodded. "And so's the illusion. Good." I sighed. "I need a shave. And an… everything."

"I like it. It makes you look rugged," Elfleda disagreed. "Though in this instance, you could do with some slight alterations. Can I let go of the doll now?"

"One second. Cover your ears first," I said.

The mirror-me covered his ears. I stepped back until I was right up against the door, then leaned down to the figurine in my hand and whispered, with a touch of power in my voice, "Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Okay, good. Yeah, you can let go now."

She did, setting the figurine down onto my bed, and the illusion broke.

"I will be back momentarily," Elfleda said. "Don't go anywhere."

She left the room, and came back a few minutes later with a comb in one hand and a makeup kit in the other.

"Uh…"

"Oh, shush." 

* * *

A few hours later, someone knocked at my door and a gruff voice said, "Harry Dresden. The bishop will see you now."

"Understood. One moment," Elfleda said in my voice.

I carefully crept to the front of the room and pushed myself against the wall so that when the door opened, it obscured me. Then Elfleda, as me, opened the door, using the edge to obscure the visual weirdness that was the illusion's arm and elbow bending in weird ways to accommodate Elfleda's smaller reach. Once it was halfway open, she pulled her hand back and let momentum do the rest.

"Lead on," she said, then walked out of the room. Once I heard that she was clear, I slowly closed the door. That little bit of theatricality had been Elfleda's idea.

There was a brief pause, and then I heard three sets of footsteps walking away from the door. Once I started hearing them more through the other figurine than my own ears, I sighed and went to sit on my bed, and waited.

A few minutes of relative silence passed until the sound of footsteps was broken by the sound of a door opening and closing, followed by Elfleda politely saying "Your Excellency, Bishop Odo" which was the verbal signal for game time.

Oh, uh, if you're wondering where she put the figurine to keep her hands free, well… I leave guessing that as an exercise to the reader.

"Wine?" Odo said, presumably at least. He had a voice fit for radio, rich and steady and clear.

"Please," Elfleda said.

I frowned slightly but didn't comment. Elfleda had gotten some practice in moving about under the illusion, to get an idea how things looked, but I was concerned drinking wine might screw that up a little. Still, considering the amount of effort she'd put into the preparations, asking me question after question so that she could provide appropriate, immediate answers, I had to believe that Elfleda wasn't planning on screwing me over.

I heard the padding of feet, the opening and closing of cabinet doors, the clink of goblets, and the pouring of wine. Then I heard Elfleda say "Thank you" and the slight rustling of clothing that suggested she sat.

"Harry Dresden," Odo began. "I've heard a number of things about you from my brother, some of which I'm sure were exaggerated."

"Nothing too grand, I hope. The earl has always struck me as a serious man."

"That he is, but he lacks the perspective I have as a man of the cloth. Now, I have some idea of why you are here, of course, but before we discuss what I may be able to do for you, I would like to get a better measure of your character."

"Of course, Your Excellency," she said.

"Hmm." There was a brief stretch of silence that I figured to be confusion on Odo's end – "I" was probably being more polite than expected – before he said, "Now, I am given to understand that you are to my younger brother as Armaund Malfoy is to my older brother. Is that so?"

Elfleda bought time by asking, "You've met him?"

"A few times over the years."

In the meantime, I said, "Not really. Malfoy strikes me as William's personal wizard whereas I just solve problems."

"In the vaguest sense, perhaps. I assist the earl with matters he lacks a fuller perspective on, but I don't believe I aid him in the same was as Malfoy. I can't say any more as I have never asked Malfoy or the king what their relationship is."

"A fuller perspective?" Odo pressed.

"Information about habits, desires, perspective, behavior, and so on," she said. I quickly listed off the various things I'd done for Robert in particular, mostly as a reminder, and she went on to say, "The centaurs at Berkhamsted Forest, which he initially assumed were simple bandits, and the matter of which was resolved by declaring the Forest a Kingswood. Some supernatural occurrences around Samhain, sightings of ghosts and poltergeists, which weren't anything serious but that he finally had an explanation for. The string of killings in Cornwall, which finally ended with the destruction of a draugr. And the situation in York, where a demon came close to assassinating your brothers before it was stopped."

"Ah, yes, York. Where the demon was a supposed fallen angel of God."

Oh. Shit. Elfleda was going to kill me.

Oh, and I guess Odo wasn't clued into the Denarians, but that realization was rather overshadowed by thoughts of what Elfleda would to me for leaving out that bit of information.

"Supposed?" Elfleda asked, her voice remarkably calm.

"I'll explain later," I said hurriedly.

"I was not there," Odo said. "I have only secondhand accounts of that attack, from my brother exclusively, of you providing dire warnings and then only a brief sighting of a massive, unnatural bear."

"Do you believe your brother imagined this bear?" Elfleda asked.

"I believe he saw something monstrous, but whatever else may have happened he cannot corroborate."

"I see," Elfleda said. She didn't say anything more, which was good, because the thoughts going through my head that I might've voiced if I were there were definitely less than diplomatic.

"Is it fair to say, then, that where Armaund is more of an assistant, you are more of a hunter?" Odo asked.

"Hunter has some very particular implications. Some of what I have done can certainly be considered hunting, but I think the better way to put it would be 'guardian', or 'protector'," Elfleda said.

"A protector. Like the Fellowship of Saint Giles? I have never heard of Saint Giles founding such an order."

Good thing that was one of the topics we covered in prep.

"He did not found the Fellowship, Your Excellency. He is simply the patron, the one the Fellowship's ideals are drawn from."

"Yes. The patron of beggars, cripples, hermits, lepers. Outcasts."

"All that and more," Elfleda said. "He was a generous man, who yet sought no honors and recognition."

"And yet you are also a wizard," Odo said.

"And? Is there some contradiction, some restriction? Can a wizard not choose to work in God's name?"

"I suppose not. It just strikes me as strange." There was a bit of shuffling, and then, "Tell me about the Fellowship."

"There is not much to say. It is a simple order, small," Elfleda said, rephrasing what I'd outlined earlier. "Recruitment is by invitation, and is extended to those that match the values of the Fellowship, those that don't exactly fit in. As to what the Fellowship does, they are, as you said, protectors, wandering helpers."

"But you haven't wandered in close to a year. You live in Berkhamsted, alongside my brother."

"I have wandered. Cornwall, York, London. Just because I have a home doesn't mean I must stay there all the time."

"But you serve my brother."

"Is he not deserving of assistance?" Elfleda asked. "Is he not a person, a man, who faced problems that weren't human in nature? He asked and I helped."

"And is that all?"

"What do you want me to say? That I haven't asked for anything, that he hasn't helped me in return? I have and he has. So what?"

There was a brief, tense moment of silence where I assume Odo stared down my doppelganger, or the reverse. Then he broke the silence by asking, "As with your school?"

"As with the school," Elfleda agreed. "May I discuss it."

"It seems appropriate now. I understand you wish to establish a kind of cathedral school?" Odo asked.

I had no clue what that was, but it looked like Elfleda did because she said, "In a sense, though the idea is to open it to a broader group of students and not to direct them towards the Church, at least inherently."

"To what end then?"

"Literacy. Natural philosophy. Education. A greater understanding of the world leads to a greater appreciation of everything within and around it as much as it aids in work. And the school will teach many skills which could then be put to use in a number of practical professions: scribe, engineer, architect, and so on. And beyond, to provide a more comprehensive education to those that would rule."

"Such as the nobility?"

"Yes, much like the cathedral schools founded by the decree of Charlemagne."

What?

"You're going to need to explain that to me when you get back," I muttered.

"Are you looking for funding, then, or a royal charter?"

"Nothing like that," Elfleda said. "I would like your aid. To spread the word and build interest in the school, in drawing from its students, in sending some."

"And that is all you are asking for? Verbal support?" Odo asked.

"Yes," Elfleda said. I asked her to ask about funding if he seemed like he might come around to it, and I took her silence as an answer.

"And your magic? Will you be teaching that as well?" Odo asked, his tone a little off.

"It depends."

"On what?" Odo asked.

"On whether they have the potential. Not everyone is born with the capacity to be capable with magic, just like not everyone is born with a good singing voice."

"Mmm." I finally heard some sipping, and assumed it was Odo. "I will speak with some of my vassals and my brothers in the clergy, and consider your proposal. Unfortunately, I won't have an answer for you before my brother leaves for home, though I may when he returns."

I frowned. That sounded like a polite "fuck-off." Like the kind of reply you'd get at the end of a first-round interview where you're told they'll call you back and then your phone never rings for six months straight.

Or so I'm told, anyway; I never had to go through that.

"Of course. Thank you for your time then, Your Excellency," Elfleda said.

"Likewise."

There was the shuffling of chairs, the rustling of clothes, the opening and closing of doors, and the padding of footsteps. I kept the illusion going right up until my own door opened and closed. Then I stopped running power through the figurine, and the mirror-me was replaced by Elfleda.

"That sounded like a rejection," I said, taking Elfleda's figurine when she offered it.

"It was," she said. "From what I saw Odo is a rather ambitious and avaricious man, far from the ideal image of a man of the cloth."

I grunted. "So that's it, dead end with him?"

"I did not say that," she said. "I doubt he is a man you could sway with entreaties and pleas. He would likely demand tasks of you for his favor, tasks I am not certain you would agree with. No, he seems like a man who is better off threatened."

"Uh-huh. And how am I supposed to threaten one of the most powerful men in England again, particularly in a way that gets him to do what I want?" I asked.

"It's simple, in principle. You find a secret he desperately wishes to conceal and then hold it over him."


	68. Chapter 5-VIII

**April 1070**

"Now, this fallen angel?" Elfleda asked.

I sighed and rubbed the back of my head. "Okay, so, it's... sort of in the name. Ursiel. The el means 'of God.'"

"Am I then right to assume that makes it an especially dangerous demon?" she asked.

"It's definitely up there," I said. "A few rungs below the Devil, depending on how you look at things."

"And you charged off to face it," she said, then sighed. "Why?"

"Because I was asked to," I said. "By an angel."

Elfleda shook her head and sighed. "And you're worried about _my_ safety..." 

* * *

It took a full day to get everything organized, loaded, and sorted, and by that point the weather was iffy enough that Robert didn't feel comfortable setting sail at night.

It did afford me enough time to work things out with Godiva though. She had a few questions for me when I popped in, and I spent an hour answering her questions and checking her work. By noon on the second day, Godiva felt confident that my proposed enchantments would work as advertised and that she could work the rest out on her own, so she parted with the necklace.

I also received some clothing during the wait and got around to enchanting it. It still feels a bit awkward so that's all I'm going to say on the matter.

There was some kind of small storm during the second night, but come morning the weather had cleared up enough that the sailors didn't hem and haw about leaving port. I was, I admit, a bit apprehensive about getting on a boat again. The first time had more than the recommended number of encounters with Mab, i.e. zero. I was a bit concerned about the second time.

Fortunately though, as I write this on the morning after our departure, my dreams have been untroubled. 

* * *

God damn it Uriel. Do you arrange these "coincidences", or just enjoy them?

Anyway, so there I was, coming back to my cabin from dinner. The sun was going down, we were far from any city or town or port, there were only a few torches flickering out on deck, and the candle in my cabin was unlit. It was dark, in other words.

When I entered my cabin, the final flickers of sunlight that filtered in only illuminated what was immediately in front of the door: the bed. I closed the door, wandered over to the small stand that held the one candle in the room, and lit it with a muttered incantation, revealing the face of the Leanansidhe maybe six damn inches away from mine.

"Gah!" I flailed, stumbled back, and fell on the bed. Across from me, sitting in the wooden reading chair, the Leanansidhe snickered.

"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled, shifting so I sat on the edge of the bed. "Laugh it up. Give me a heart attack, why don't you."

"It would not be fatal."

"Hah." I glanced around the room quickly to make sure we were alone, then looked back at the Leanansidhe. "I don't have anything to offer you in terms of food and drink, and you've already taken the chair, so you'll have to forgive me if I don't engage in any more formalities."

"Do I?" she asked.

"You got your laugh," I said. "And seeing as how the wards are just fine, I figure you're here to talk. Am I right?"

"You are," she agreed, recrossing her legs so one pointed directly at me, showing off a good amount of skin.

I nodded, and hoped she hadn't found Amoracchius. I'd gotten a sheath for it in the weeks before we left Berkhamsted, and right now that sheath was wrapped up in layers of fur and stuck under my bed, out of reach. Not that it would be of any use in this scenario.

"Well, in that case welcome to my humble temporary abode," I said, gesturing around the room with one hand. "What's your question today?"

"So eager to skip straight to the meat?" she asked, smiling.

I decided to not look for any potential innuendoes in that statement, though I certainly see some now, and just said, "Yep."

"Hmph. You won't be rid of me that easily, wizard."

"A man can dream," I said. "And I won't be buying whatever you're selling."

"So confident," she said. "We shall see how long that lasts. But if you wish your second question so badly, tell me, wizard, how did your debt come to be held by my queen's predecessor?"

I took a deep breath. That was a much harder question to answer than her first.

First impression: Mab seemed to think like Helga, that I'd owed the previous Winter Queen a debt and it had carried over. At least that's how I interpreted it; the way the question was phrased made it seem like she didn't suspect I was from the future. Which was very, very good.

Second impression: I must've been in Avalon a lot longer than I initially thought. The question didn't make much sense otherwise; if Mab had been Queen when I'd arrived, she probably would've been asking how a debt to her suddenly appeared.

Third impression: by the terms I had set out, I could not answer that question. I'd said no lying, no wordplay, and no half-truths. And at first glance, I didn't see a way to tell the truth without falling afoul of one of those.

Keep things general, just say I had a debt to a servant of the old Queen who'd sold that debt on, and I wouldn't really be giving a straight response. Moreover, I would be consciously engaging in wordplay, getting fancy with the verbiage in order to obscure the truth. Tell the unvarnished truth, and Mab would stop toying with me.

I kicked my feet against the ground and tried to find a response that I wouldn't see as bullshit, that wouldn't be a breach. And try as I might, I just couldn't find one.

After a few minutes, I let out a sigh and said, "Veto."

"Are you certain?" she asked.

I frowned at her. "Why are you double-checking?"

"I am not asking out of idle curiosity, dear, but because I wish to know the answer. So I ask again: are you certain?"

I nodded. "Yes. I veto the question. You'll have to ask another."

"Hmm." The Leanansidhe folded her hands together in her lap. "Shame."

"Mab get you to ask that question?" I asked.

"My queen did not 'get' me to do anything," she said. "It was a question I had already considered. She simply convinced me to reassess my priorities."

"Sorry you didn't get whatever you were bargaining for, then," I said.

"Who said I haven't yet?" she asked, amused.

I frowned, then took in the way she was sitting: leaning back, head cocked slightly to the side, eyes a little distracted. As if she was looking at something else.

No, as if she were listening to some_one_ else.

"Is… is she _here_?" I asked, sitting up ramrod straight.

The Leanansidhe tittered. "Indeed. My queen is nearby, listening. Did you expect otherwise?"

For a moment, there was a slight, cold breeze, carrying the faint hint of laughter. I studiously ignored it and refused to look around.

"Has anyone ever told her that acting like a stalker isn't attractive?" I asked.

"You did, just now."

I narrowed my eyes at the Leanansidhe. "Really?"

"How did you put it at our last meeting, wizard? Like a cagey squirrel?"

I sighed and looked down. Of course she'd use that against me.

A minute passed in relative silence, broken only by the rocking of the boat and the muted crashing of the waves, before the Leanansidhe asked, "Tell me, wizard, were you ever the Winter Knight?"

The question completely blindsided me, and I stiffened. And for a moment, I was angry. Then I went over her phrasing again, and I got confused.

I'd thought the Leanansidhe had thrown me a curveball, asked a question designed to provoke a response without phrasing it in a way that used one of her questions. Only, she had - used one of her questions, I mean.

I slowly lifted my head and looked at the Leanansidhe. Her expression was calm and controlled, the only sign of her interest a slightly raised eyebrow.

It didn't make sense. Okay, the actual question itself kind of made sense, if she or Mab had suspicions in that direction, but using one of her three questions to do it rather than asking something more encompassing, or playing dirty?

I was missing something here, and I didn't like it.

Still, she'd asked me a question, and if my immediate reaction hadn't given it away, my silence had, so there was no point wasting a veto.

"Yes," I said. "And as an addendum, if you ask anything else about my tenure, I will veto that question."

The Leanansidhe smiled faintly, and I was tempted to tell her to bugger off in classic British fashion so I could start panicking. But Mab was here, or "here", and that was an opportunity of its own sort. Kind of. Sort of. Maybe.

"Can Mab do the 'speak through you' trick?" I asked vaguely.

The Leanansidhe cocked her head to the side. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I've seen a few entities –" just Mab "project their voice through those weaker than them."

She considered that for a moment. "She can, but usually that is done when the very act of speaking would hurt or kill those being spoken to. Given the circumstances I see no need to surrender my voice should you wish to converse with her."

"Alright," I said.

To outline my thoughts in that moment: I wanted information out of Mab, while getting her to focus on the wrong things. Now, that was going to be difficult, but tricking or outwitting Mab wasn't impossible, just very difficult. I'd managed it once with my murder-suicide, and twice when escaping Avalon. This was a completely different ballgame though; it wasn't me skirting around her, it was me directly engaging with her. That needed a different strategy:

"Why are you so interested in me?" I asked.

A mix of refuge in audacity and ordering strategy. See, most people tend to focus on and remember the start and end of a conversation, and any big high-points in between. So if I threw out the attention-grabbing questions first and last, then the "less interesting" but still important ones I could pepper in the middle. Now, whether that would work on Mab or not I had no idea. But simple strategies had worked twice on Mab, and in general they just had fewer points of failure.

The air in the room got colder, and the candle in the corner flickered and shook as a slight breeze wound through the room, laughter echoing in its wake.

"You ask this question now?" Mab's voice asked, seeming to come from everywhere in the room. "I should think it eminently obvious. You are powerful, knowledgeable, and once of Winter, and yet I know so very little about you."

"And so instead of trying literally anything else, you decided to try and seduce me by keeping me locked up," I said. "Real great interrogation technique you've got there."

"Were you not able to escape, you would not have been interesting," she said.

I frowned. "You were coming onto me from day one. You told me yourself you didn't know how I escaped."

"And? What difference does that make?"

My frown turned frownier. There was some kernel of truth in that – obviously, or else Mab couldn't have said it – but it felt off. Had her interest changed, then? From relatively simple curiosity at finding me in Avalon to dedicated interest when I escaped the Leanansidhe and her by proxy?

Yeah. That felt right. Still, there was something missing.

"Okay, so my escape supposedly made you more interested. To which you responded by not showing up for a whole two years," I said.

"You were thorough in avoiding me."

"Yeah, sure," I said. "You're not even trying that hard to get me interested in you, after telling me that's what you were aiming for. Seems to me like you just don't care that much and I can just keep avoiding you forever."

That there was what I really wanted to know: Mab's plans for bringing me around. I doubted she'd go into extensive detail, but even a few ideas would help.

"It wouldn't be very difficult," she said.

I blinked. "What?" I asked.

"I told you I wish for you to be desperate when you come to me, needful." A wave slammed hard into the side of the boat, and it shook as if laughing. "I need not pursue you, wizard. You charge heedlessly into danger so often that I need not do anything. In time, you will fail, and fall, and break. And I will be waiting."

If that was the first time I'd heard that, I probably would have reacted. But it wasn't. Mab had said the exact same thing to me, paraphrased, a few years before I became the Winter Knight. Then, it had been chilling. Now, it was still worrying, but it was also a relief; it meant she probably wouldn't try anything, deliberately.

Outside of one situation, at least.

"Except I still owe you," I said. "So when are you going to get around to presenting that third task?"

"When I see a need for your particular capabilities," she said. "Which I expect to come after you come to me."

I grimaced in response. It wasn't surprising, but it was definitely unpleasant. That had been the deal: three tasks, and I went free, free of Sidhe influence, free of any obligation to her or, now defunct, Lea. It would've let me skirt around the hanging Bed of Damocles, or just avoid any entanglement with her altogether.

I'm still kicking myself over not explicitly requiring the end of this debt when I bargained with Mab. I should've known she would screw me over for not being specific.

"Well, that's very reassuring to hear," I said, trying to affect a dry tone. "I'm sure anyone I was ever involved with, if they were still around, would be able to tell you you're going to be waiting a very long time for that. Now, I'm going to sleep. Alone. So get out. Please."

With one last laugh, the candle guttered and died, plunging the room into darkness. I sat there for a few seconds, Listening for the sound of breathing. Once I was sure I was alone in the room, I shook my head and sighed, "Faeries."

* * *

Author's Note: One question remains.


	69. Chapter 5-IX

**May 1070  
**  
I spent the next few days in a heightened state of paranoia – again – and really only relaxed once we finally landed in Normandy, in the town of Bayeux. Or was it bishopric, because it was under the control of a bishop? Or was it just a town a bishop was based out of and Odo didn't actually control or rule over Bayeux?

This was too confusing. Town of Bayeux, there.

We arrived in the morning and so we didn't stay, instead getting right back on the road again, heading south with a bit of west. The plan as I understood it was to inn-hop until we got to Mortain, stay there for about a week, gather a levy, and then go south to figure out what was going on in Maine.

Mostly, I… well, to say I didn't care wasn't right. Whether the people of Maine were "right" to rebel or not there was still a conflict here and it was probably going to lead to some fighting. But there wasn't really anything I could do, either; I couldn't tell Robert just to forget about it and leave, I had no connection to the people of Maine, and I didn't have the diplomatic skills to arrange some kind of compromise, assuming both sides were even willing to do so. At best, I could try and make sure Robert was being reasonable and restrained.

In any case, the first evening on our road trip south, I kept Tim from the sweet embrace of early sleep and dragged him off to a small clearing near the inn we were staying at.

"I see you finally decided to put aside your staff," Tim noted as we set up.

"Sort of," I said. "I did some thinking on the way south, thought about what kind of situations I'd use my staff in and what situations I'd use my sword in."

"And?"

"And most of the time I'll use my staff. It's what I'm more familiar with, I have a lot more experience with staff fighting, and it lets me mix in my magic," I said. "Whereas my sword is really only better in a few situations, where my magic is more or less useless, or at least a lot weaker."

The logic held regardless of whether I was using Amoracchius or my Warden sword, which I should really get around to naming. Glamdring didn't fit, since I'd proven I couldn't pull a Gandalf and use staff and sword together, and I didn't have any other clear leads.

"And your… shield?" he asked.

I'd put my shield bracelet back on my left hand, though wearing it on my right hand had been interesting. My current thought was to have two bracelets, the more elaborate one on the left for when I needed to prepare a comprehensive defense and had the time and opportunity to do so, and something closer to my original shield bracelet on the right, for quick and reflexive blocks.

"Not while we're traveling," I answered. "Too many eyes."

"Everyone at court thinks you have magic," Tim said.

"Sure, but there's 'thinks I have magic' and what they imagine I can do, and what I can actually do," I said. "The gap can really freak people out."

Tim didn't contest that.

"Anyway, are we talking, or practicing?" I asked, hefting my sword.

I lost, of course, which wasn't a surprise. But I didn't lose as badly as I had the first time around. My performance had dropped a bit, but that was because I'd gotten into the groove of fighting with left-handed sword and magic tower shield, regardless of how unwieldy that combination had been. And I wasn't expecting to be anywhere close to good by the time I ran into Gauthier. Then again, I didn't need to be; I was planning on using Amoracchius, not wielding or swinging it.

Besides practice, my evenings were also taken up with enchantment. I'd finished the protective charms on Elfleda's clothes by the time we landed, and at this point was just working on her necklace. The existing ward on it was good, probably capable of taking a single hit from me before shorting out, but vampires were unlikely to use evocation and so I wanted something a little more general.

It took us about five days to reach Mortain, which was a small but, at first glance, fairly prosperous township just full of wooden buildings. The castle of Mortain was on the south side of the town, so we passed through the town; along the way, people came out to see the procession, and it looked like some of the people recognized us. Or rather Robert and so on, not me.

We arrived early in the evening, early enough for dinner. And that first dinner really told me all I needed to know about Robert's relationship with his family. His wife Matilda was a small woman, a few inches taller than Helga, who had a tired face that made her look like she was in her forties rather than her thirties. While they sat together at dinner and exchanged pleasantries, it was fairly obvious they were talking at each other rather than with each other. Robert was somewhat warmer with his daughter Denise, who couldn't have been older than ten, but the fact that this was the first time I was seeing her, in Mortain, despite Robert having spent years in England, was telling enough.

Oh, yeah, and Robert brought his mistress into the same house, which was just the cherry on top of this family-cake. 

* * *

The week and a half we spent at Mortain, with Robert checking up on his lands and bringing various levies together, generally wasn't exciting. I worked, trained, walked and talked with Elfleda, talked with John – who didn't have the most stellar opinion of Odo, by the way – and generally just passed the time. The only really interesting thing to happen in that entire stay was when I'd "improved" on the necklace's wards and went to finally give it to Elfleda.

Mortain was close to a nice and lightly-wooded forest where I'd been walking with Elfleda and training with Tim. Smaller than Berkhamsted Forest by my estimate, but without any centaurs that might spoil the experience. This happened a day before we left Mortain, and I waited until we were a little into the woods before turning to Elfleda.

We weren't walking arm-in-arm but we were close to each other, so when I stopped and turned to face her she did the same, eyebrow raised. "Yes?" she asked.

"I finished working on the necklace," I said.

"Oh, does that mean I finally get it?" she asked teasingly.

In response, I dug the necklace out of one of my pocket's and held it out to her. She took it, then brought it close to inspect it.

"I see you carved… script into the frame?" she asked.

"Yeah. It was a real pain," I said. "And if I knew anything about gem cutting I might've worked on the sapphire too."

"What does it do?" Elfleda asked, putting it on and shifting it until it sat right.

"What Godiva said, acts as a defensive charm, but what I added was something more relevant to present circumstances," I said.

"Don't keep me in suspense," she said.

"If you wrap your hand around the gem portion tightly and say 'aegis' – don't do that yet – then it should produce a protective barrier around you, like a bubble. It's not as strong and impervious as I would've liked, I didn't have that long to work on it, but it should be impassable and resistant to physical force. Something to be used in case of emergency," I said.

"Interesting," she said. "Can it break?"

"It can, if enough force was used against it. But it'll hold out for a few minutes before that happens, and I can bring it down if necessary."

"What about me? Can I disable it?" she asked.

"Not right now. I didn't have the time to add in a way to turn it off without using magic, which isn't something you can do. Right now, at least. And it doesn't move either."

"So it's a cage, of sorts," she said.

"I guess," I replied. "It's something to use in case we're attacked. The idea is you bring up the barrier, and I don't have to worry so much about protecting you right away. And if it turns out we need to run, I can bring it down and we can hoof it."

"I see. Should I try it now, so you can test it?" she asked.

"…sure," I said after a brief pause.

Elfleda arched an eyebrow. "That pause does not fill me with confidence," she said.

"It's perfectly safe," I said. "I'm just not entirely sure that turning it on won't crack the frame. Or the gem. And sort of ruin the necklace."

Elfleda let out an aggrieved sigh. "If it does, you will be making reparations. Now, do I need to put some space between us, so that you're left on the outside?" She frowned slightly. "Come to think of it, what are the dimensions? And what would happen to anything caught on the edge?"

"Uh… spread your arms out, all the way," I said.

She did so, spreading her arms out like the Vitruvian Man. Only with one set of arms rather than two. "Like this?"

"Yeah. About a little wider than that, a foot taller than you, and as long as it is wide. Like a slightly rounded rectangular prism."

"Not much space," she remarked. "And you didn't answer my question."

"It spreads outwards from the gem, encompassing you and pushing everyone and everything close to you back," I said. "So rocks, twigs, animals, people. It should come up fast so I suppose you could fling someone back with it, if you timed it right. I wouldn't recommend it." I took a few steps back so I wouldn't be caught up in the effect. "You can try it at any time."

Elfleda nodded, clasped the necklace, and brought up the bubble, a shimmering, thinly-translucent barrier of bright blue light, in the image of my own shields.

"Okay, you should be able to hear me," I said.

"I can," she replied. "And your gift appears to be intact."

"Good. Now, give me a moment," I said.

I'd worked a small flaw into the design, basically a way to short-circuit it. No one except another wizard with the Sight or someone similarly capable should've been able to find it, and even then not right away. It wasn't the best solution to the problem, but if Elfleda was being directly attacked by a warlock or other powerful practitioner then we both had bigger problems. This was for the more physical threats.

I threaded my magic into the structure of the shield, and then carefully picked it apart. The barrier flickered and then dissipated, breaking apart into motes of blue light that faded in seconds. I moved back to Elfleda's side, and noted the necklace was still fine.

"Hmm," Elfleda said, lifting the necklace so she could look more closely at it. "It's intact. How fortunate for you."

"What do you mean?" I asked cautiously.

"If you had ruined my gift without asking me in advance, I would have been very cross," she said sternly. "But it works, and it's thoughtful, so instead, thank you."


	70. Chapter 5-X

**May 1070**

Our trip south was actually fairly slow and leisurely on account of messengers going back and forth and back and forth, so what should've been about a three day trip at best dragged on to almost two weeks worth of marching back and forth. Count Robert the Elder met with Count Robert the Younger – or Curthose, William's eldest son, though he didn't like anyone calling him that – who apparently maintained that he was still Count of Maine even though he'd been kicked out. Then there was the meeting with André de Vitré, Robert the Elder's son-in-law – who didn't look that much younger than Robert himself, five to six years at the most by my guess. And who besides me could forget all the messages to one Hugh V of Maine – not to be confused with apparently a few other Hugh Vs running around France.

The entire experience just reinforced my desire to stay out of politics.

Anyway, after a lot of finagling that would probably be interesting to some historians but that I studiously refuse to record, there was a general agreement to meet at the small town slash large village of Ernée, which was a little into the borders of Maine, about a day's walk from Mortain and less so from Brittany, where André hailed from.

Now to further disappoint historians. I'm sure my journals would be of great use to the exactly zero archaeologists and historians that might eventually get their hands on them, or copies of them, but to be frank the bulk of this meeting really didn't matter to me. It was a whole bunch of important sounding and looking people talking back and forth about whether the Count of Maine should be Robert the Younger, a nineteen year old boy – and I use the term deliberately – with clear anger and possessiveness issues, or Hugh V, who was, well, to put it charitably and Frenchly, a clear imbecile. It was obvious why his barons and the mayor of Le Mans preferred to talk for themselves while only weakly defending Hugh.

As a result, I'm going to focus not on the mind-numbingly boring political back-and-forth I barely remember as I'm writing this, but instead the parts that are important to me and that I do remember: namely, everything to do with Gauthier.

The first sign I had that he was present was when we were riding into Ernée. There were a series of flags flying above the town, most a variant on the gold fleur-de-lis on blue background that was the French standard. I was next to Tim as we approached, and once we caught sight of the flags he let out a long sigh.

"Bad news?" I asked.

"Do you see that flag off to the side?" Tim asked. "The one that mixes the King of France's standard with white lilies?"

"Yeah."

"Father loves to put white lilies on everything. That's almost certainly his flag," he explained.

"What do you think he's doing here?" I asked. "Officially."

"Officially, likely overseeing the dispute between vassals of King Philip," he said. "May even be his main reason. But once he finds out about me and Lucille, if he doesn't already, he'll most likely want to talk with us."

Robert the Elder had brought a reduced court entourage with him, leaving behind most of the ladies and some of the lords. Lucille had come by virtue of being his mistress, and so she couldn't be left behind without extreme awkwardness, and Elfleda had come along through association with me and some slight cajoling from Lucille. Neither were going to be present at the "negotiations" with Hugh though.

Though part of me would've preferred skipping the whole "negotiations" phase entirely, it was an opportunity to get a look at the Constable. Also, Robert dragged me along to stand around and "look impressive." Tim got brought as a trusted bodyguard. I'm not sure which of us wanted to be there less.

Gauthier stood out, so much so that I spotted him within a second of entering the pavilion where all the talking was to happen. It wasn't hard. The man was a few hairs shy of six feet, with roguish black hair and almost artful scars framing the features of his forty-something face. It made me wonder as to how vampires aged, actually; Thomas had looked to be in his early thirties when we met and stayed that way, and Lord Raith hadn't looked that much older, while Lara and her sisters had all looked younger, if not by that much. Was it a matter of choice and style, a subconscious belief as to what looked "attractive"? I really hoped it wasn't an indicator of genuine age.

Gauthier wore a blue doublet over blue pants, the clothes easily the finest of anyone present. The only spot of white was a pair of white lilies, one pinned to either breast. He wore a sword at one hip, about three and a half feet long, contained within an ornate blue scabbard embellished with golden fleur-de-lis' descending in a column from hilt to point. He was a little slimmer than Tim, not quite as muscled, and he had the eyes of a lazy and disinterested cat, observing everyone with mild amusement. They only seemed to brighten once he spotted Tim. Then they landed on me and my staff, and his gaze sharpened.

We didn't talk at all for the first period of negotiations, which stretched on for hours and only broke at noon for lunch. Then, as people started vaguely mingling, Gauthier parted the crowd like it was a field of wheat, moving towards Tim, and me.

"Timothée, my son. You look well," Gauthier said, patting Tim on the shoulder. His voice was deep and smooth, vaguely reminiscent of Lord Raith's. "England has been kind to you, I hope?"

"It has," Tim replied.

"Good, good. And who is your… companion?" Gauthier asked, glancing up at me.

"Harry Dresden," Tim said. "Advisor to Count Robert."

"Which one," Gauthier said rhetorically, his tone amused. He then turned to look at me fully, eyes slightly narrowed. "Here to oversee the honesty of this meeting, like the good Seigneur de Vitré?"

"You could say that," I said, focusing on Gauthier's nose. "Do you have any particular interest here I need to worry about?"

"I'm here for the same reason you are, sir Dresden," he said.

"Still not a knight," I muttered. Then, more loudly, I said, "I think you're more right than you know."

Gauthier's eyes narrowed further, and he looked towards Tim questioningly.

"Now's not the best time to talk, Father," Tim said. "And Lucille doesn't want to see you at all."

"A shame. But Lucy is here, isn't she?" Gauthier asked.

"She's around," Tim said warily. "In the count's entourage."

"Good, good."

"Constable Renouth," I said, deciding to give formality a try. Everything about him was giving me serious creeper vibes, but part of that was just his vampyness. I wasn't feeling confident that he'd agree to back off later, but I also didn't see any benefit in pissing him off right away.

"Yes, sir Dresden?" he asked.

I sighed and decided to just ignore the "sir." "I think delaying any personal business until everyone's stopped talking about Maine is a good idea. What about you?"

"I don't see how your personal business and mine intersect," he replied.

"Timothy here's a friendly acquaintance. He's had my back on one occasion, just seems fair to return the favor," I said.

Gauthier looked over at Tim, who shrugged and nodded. "As I said, Father. Now's not the best time."

"I see," he said quietly, and the air got slightly colder – and not from me, my aura was currently producing a light simmer. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The last time that kind of abrupt temperature change happened around a vampire, Lord Raith had just gotten out of a limousine. If Gauthier was anywhere close to him in strength, then I was damn glad I'd packed Amoracchius.

"How long do you think these talks with take?" I asked. "A few days?"

"No more than three, I think," he stated. His tone suggested that it would _be_ three, one way or another.

"Then I guess we all have something to look forward to," I said. 

* * *

The next few days were tense all around. I had no clue how many vampires or thralls Gauthier had brought with him, though Elfleda spotted one succubus slinking around. I had a private tent all to myself, and I spent much of the first evening brewing a quartet of escape potions, using up all the supplies I'd brought along.

Tim was the most relaxed of the four of us, which wasn't actually saying that much. Lucille, meanwhile, stuck closely to the knights and-or _milite_ she still slept with and may have fed off of. I wasn't sure of the latter, and glancing at them with my Sight revealed no real damage or influence. If she was manipulating them, it was in the typical way, not the supernatural.

Though I guess her appearance could be considered supernatural influence in and of itself, if I wanted to get really precise.

And then there was Elfleda.

"I really don't think it's a good idea for you to come along," I said.

"Would I be safer alone?" she asked. "You've made it plain you expect talks to break down."

"The White Court aren't the type to attack head on," I said. "If things go bad, Gauthier is probably going to smile, wave, walk off, and think about how to stab me in the back later. He'll come at me indirectly."

"Like through me?" she asked. "If I were to stay behind, undefended?"

"I don't have a good way to disguise you," I said. "I actually suck at glamours and veils."

"Then what was the doll?"

"That was me projecting an image of myself over an active link," I said. "That's a lot simpler than a glamour. The closest I can manage is to try and attach a hologram to you."

"A hologram?" she asked.

"A construct of light made to look like a particular thing or person," I explained.

Elfleda frowned. "What is the difference between that and a glamour?"

"I… ugh," I sighed. "Look. Sure, technically, between the blending potion and a hologram, and if you don't talk much, I can probably keep Gauthier and anyone else there from directly identifying you. But Lucille and Tim will figure it out, and besides that…"

"Besides that what?" she asked.

"The last time I went into a meeting with vampires with my… a woman I was close to, she died," I said, paraphrasing heavily.

Susan hadn't actually died until much, much later, and I'd technically had more meetings with vampires alongside Murphy and Luccio and Molly, but Bianca's party… it stood out in my mind. Like a shadow looming over everything.

Elfleda stared at me intently for a few seconds, then pursed her lips and nodded. "Very well. I will not come with you."

"Good," I said. "Now, you should be fine. But keep the potions on you. That way if something happens, if you're attacked, you can bring up the barrier, drink the escape potion, and then down the blending potion once you're clear. Don't do it the other way around; potions can mix strangely if you drink a second one while the first is still in your system."

"Won't the barrier block my escape?" she asked.

"It's not designed to stop air. Otherwise you'd suffocate," I said. "Which would rather go against the whole 'protective barrier' part."

"That is true," she allowed. 

* * *

In the end, no agreement was reached, to the surprise of essentially no one. The people in charge of Maine weren't about to submit to Robert the Younger again just a year after kicking him out, and while they didn't really like Hugh, their attitude towards him can be summed up in one sentence:

"He may be an imbecile, but he's our imbecile."

Not that anyone actually said that, though other insults were thrown around, like Curthose. By noon on the third day no one was even trying anymore, and people started packing up to leave. Or in my case, to meet a vampire.

There was a small forest just to the south of Ernée, which contained two small ponds. Gauthier and I had agreed to meet between the two, just off to the side of the small dirt road that wound its way through the trees. It was supposed to be me, Tim, and Lucille as one party, and Gauthier and two others as the other party. Supposed to be; I wouldn't have been all that surprised if he had more people hiding nearby.

I went back to my tent first to grab everything I needed. By the time I emerged, Tim and Lucille were already there, waiting for me. Both looked at me strangely as I walked out.

"What is that in your hand?" Lucille asked, gesturing towards my left. My right was holding my staff.

I held up the item in question and peered at it. "It appears… to be a sandwich." A sandwich with cheese, lettuce, onions, and some rough, thin slices of beef to be precise.

"A wha… are you taking this seriously?!" Lucille demanded.

"Very," I said.

Tim, meanwhile, noticed something else off about my ensemble. "That's not your usual sword," he remarked. "It's bigger, and the hilt's different."

"Yup, it's not Snickers," I said.

"…Snickers?" Tim asked hesitantly.

"Well I've got two swords, so I need to differentiate them somehow. So, I named one Snickers," I said.

Tim and Lucille both looked a little more hesitant at coming along with me. Cowards.

Now, on Snickers: my Warden sword needed a simpler name, yes. But no silly old name would do, no. It needed to be something meaningful. And as with Shadowfax, I went for a fictional reference, a weapon to fight monsters with. But only a crazy person would go three layers deep with a literary reference, when even the first layer was utterly incomprehensible to anyone without the proper Alician context. It would've been the height of extraneously gratuitous self-indulgence, all the more so if it were used in conjunction with another joke for which everyone else had no proper chocolatey context for.

"And what does this one do?" Tim asked a few moments later.

"Makes me confident enough to face your father."

* * *

Author's Note: On the one hand, a staff is not quite a gun. In Harry's hand though, I think it qualifies.


	71. Chapter 5-XI

**May 1070**

I was pretty wary going into this meeting. I mean, Gauthier had pegged me as a wizard right away – and then not only had he not made much of an issue of it, or tried to force an earlier meeting, he had given me three days to prepare.

Vampires, and monsters in general, didn't tend to grow old _and_ stupid. The second usually precluded the first, though there were exceptions like Madeline.

This guy didn't strike me as a Madeline, which meant he had a plan, and then probably a backup plan. Fortunately, so did I.

Gauthier and his two escorts were already there when I arrived, standing by the edge of the pond. An interesting choice, but given the pond didn't flow and wasn't very deep it wasn't a helpful one; you needed either running water or a lot of water to properly ground magic, preferably both.

Gauthier himself was wearing the same ensemble as before, though he'd added a pair of leather bracers and gloves. Besides those though he was unarmored, and the only weapon I saw was the same sheathed sword he'd had at his side the whole time. Of his two escorts, one was a large, buff max, six-three and broad shouldered, clad in a coat of mail and holding a spear, and the other was definitely a lady vampire – five eight, flowing black hair, looking thirty on the dot, with a very curvy yet not fat figure. And judging by how Lucille and Tim missed a step as we approached, they recognized her.

"Someone you know?" I asked quietly.

"Our aunt," Tim replied in the same pitch.

I fought back the urge to sigh and roll my eyes. "Of course you have an aunt you never mentioned," I muttered.

Even worse was the fact that this woman didn't fit Eflelda's description of the vampire she'd seen slinking about, which meant that Gauthier had at least one other Raith with him, probably hiding nearby. And then there was whatever he expected to occupy me. Joy.

Gauthier turned to look our way as we broke the treeline, and though he briefly paused in confusion on the sandwich in my hands, his gaze quickly flickered past me towards Tim before finally settling on Lucille.

The other succubus was the first to break the silence. "Dears, you look wonderful," she said with a voice like Madonna's. She took a step forward, and stopped when the twins at my side didn't reciprocate.

"As do you, Aunt Blandine," Tim said politely. Lucille didn't say anything at all. I spared a quick glance her way and found the most unconvincingly polite expression fixed on her face. It wouldn't have even looked right on a badly made doll, that's how poor it was.

Also, Blandine, really? What, was "Blanche" too on the nose?

I tamped down on that first quip. And then on the "what a happy family reunion" quip. Really, I was being downright diplomatic right then.

"Constable Renouth," I began. "Or Lord Renouth, or what you would prefer?"

"Constable Renouth," he said idly, still looking at Lucille. "Now, Lucille, I see you've done well for yourself and I congratulate you on that, but it is most impolite to speak to me through an… associate."

I couldn't see Lucille's expression all that well from my current position, not unless I glanced her way, but I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, her head turning to look at her father. The air filled with a tense, nervous silence before Lucille started laughing.

It wasn't a good laugh. It was the kind of laugh you'd make in response to a crazy joke that had no right to be funny. It was hysterical, and desperate, and angry, and completely uncontrolled. She sounded like she was in the throes of madness.

I gave her a very concerned look, hell _everyone_ gave her a concerned look, even as she kept laughing and doubled over.

"You- you think- you think that I came here… of my own free will, and have… have _him_–" Her laugh caught on something and she broke down into hacking coughs, hammering a hand against her chest as she straightened. "You think I have _him_ under control? The wizard's insane!"

"Uh-huh," I said slowly, Lucille's expression making me rather skeptical as to whether she was in any state to declare who was and wasn't sane.

After a few seconds, Gauthier reluctantly looked away from Lucille and turned to face me. "Why are you here, wizard?" he asked, an edge of steel in his tone.

"Like I told you, your children did me a favor, so I figured I would come here to support them," I said. "And so we're here."

"What favor?" Gauthier asked, glancing at Tim.

The man beside me sighed. "There was a demon. A rather large, rather vicious, and regicide-intended demon," Tim replied.

"I see," Gauthier said, his tone suggesting he really didn't. He looked back at me. "And because of this you feel… justified in stepping into a family matter."

"Yep," I said, popping the p. "They asked me to, after all."

Gauthier's eyes narrowed, and his gaze landed on Lucille. "What does he mean?" he asked quietly.

"He means," Lucille hissed, "that I want you, Father, to _FUCK OFF_!"

The yell tore through the woods, startling birds into flight and squirrels into little squirrely sprints. The Hunger-laced emotion carried by that yell made me sway a little, and Gauthier stepped back as if physically struck.

"Yes, yes that's the right way to put it," Lucille said, muttering half to herself. "I want you to fuck off. I want you to forget about me, and forget about my brother, and just stay here, in France, and never bother me again!"

"Lucy–" Blandy began.

"You are not any better," Lucille hissed, jabbing a finger in her aunt's direction.

"What has the wizard done to you, my daughter?" Gauthier asked.

"Nothing. He has done absolutely nothing, which is a far sight better than you!" she yelled.

Gauthier sighed and didn't say anything, at first. He just glanced at me and seemed to weigh whether it was a good idea to talk around me. He evidently decided yes. "Lucille, listen to me. King Philip is young and untested. His regents are dead or have been turned away from him. He is unmarried, pliable, and has expressed interest in meeting you–"

"I don't care," Lucille hissed. "I don't care in the slightest about your young puppet king. I don't care about whatever plans you have. I'd spend the rest of my life on England if it meant you never came within a hundred miles of me. No, I'd spend the rest of my life in a peasant's dirty hut if it meant you died screaming in agony!"

Now, I wasn't much of a father or caretaker. In my life, I'd looked after one mostly self-sufficient dog, and an even more self-sufficient cat. My only experience as a father was coming to save my daughter, and then I'd fucked things up by dying. But if there was one thing I had learned that might be applicable in this situation, it was how to break the tension.

In the silence that followed, I said, "Speaking as someone who lived in a peasant's hut for a few years, it's really bad. Definitely not an experience I care to revisit."

Lucille rounded on me, eyes silver and blazing. She glared at me for a few seconds, then took a few deep breaths and backed off, her eyes dimming to gray.

"Feel better?" I asked.

"Much," she sighed, running a hand through her hair and straightening it out.

Gauthier turned to face Tim. "And you, my son?"

Tim was silent for a few seconds, glancing Lucille's way with a concerned look. Then he nodded, slightly, almost imperceptibly, and looked back at his father. "I'm with Lucille," he said.

Gauthier wasn't a good father. I'd known that from the moment Lucille had silently confirmed the utterly fucked up way in which he had tried to comfort her after her first kill. And then there was the general hatred from Lucille and apathy from Tim. Point was, I didn't feel much pity for him.

But looking at his face after his children rejected him, at his eyes, the only thing I could think was: _Ouch_.

I gave him a few seconds and waited until he looked at me before I spoke. "And here's where I come in."

"Oh?" Gauthier asked dangerously.

"I'm guaranteeing their independence," I said.

"You think I would harm my own blood?" he asked quietly.

"Lucille certainly seems to think so, and I know enough about vampires to not give you the benefit of the doubt in this instance," I said. "If you weren't going to, if you were going to let them go their own way, then great, we're done here."

"You have no right to interfere in the affairs of the White Court, of my family," he said.

"Well, to the second, your children asked me to, so I'd say that gives me the right. And as to the first, we both know this isn't going to become an affair of the White Court. Because that would involve you admitting you screwed up with your own children," I said. "That's a sign of weakness in your Court, isn't it? And, also, if you try and escalate it to a matter of the White Court, then that's not a vampire moving against a wizard, that's the White Court moving against the White Council. You sure all your cousins would back you up on that?"

Gauthier's eyes flickered to either side of me. "Your peers would not back you in this."

"Try me and find out," I said in return. "Now, the way I see it, there are two ways this can go. You can vow to leave your children alone, and maybe, eventually, you'll work something out. You enjoy the sandwich I've made, and we all go our separate ways."

He frowned. "Sandwich?"

"Cheese, lettuce, onions, and beef between two slices of bread," I said. "It's good, I got the prime ingredients to put into this." I settled my staff against the crook of my arm, took the sandwich in my right hand, and held it out to him. "Or, you open door number two."

"And what does that lead to?" he asked quietly.

"You find out exactly why I'm so confident walking into a meeting surrounded by four vampires that are all related to each other," I said.

It was only partially a bluff. I had confidence that Amoracchius could sway the odds, _if_ Gauthier and Blandy and Succubus Number Two were all he was relying on. But if he brought in a group of soldiers, called in his small army, I'd have bigger problems. But I was also fairly confident that he wasn't willing to escalate that much, not with so many other people around, not when very uncomfortable and pointed questions could be directed Gauthier's way. No, if he wanted to fight, the only way he could win would be to take down and turn the three of us, or at least his kids.

The air started to grow colder, so to combat it I let a little more magic leak out. It didn't go quite like I expected, since rather than making things warmer it just made things worse. Damn flip-flopping; couldn't it at least stay dramatically consistent?

"Four vampires," Gauthier mused. "I see you are unaware."

"The threat of vague implications usually doesn't work that well," I said. "Unless they're backed up by someone genuinely scary. Maybe you should be a little more specific."

Gauthier narrowed his eyes slightly. "Very well. Do you know what is the sword of French kings?"

I wracked my brain briefly before the answer came to me, along with a twinge of pain. "_Joyeuse_," I said. "Your point?"

Gauthier nodded. "_Joyeuse_. The sword of Charlemagne. The badge of office of the Constable of France. _This_ sword." He drew the sword on "this."

The sword didn't burst into light as it was drawn. It didn't even gleam that brightly; its steel was polished, but not that reflective. Really, it just looked like a normal sword with a golden hilt.

But looking at it, I could still feel the power coming off it. Not as much as _Amoracchius_, maybe not even as much as Snickers, but definitely enough to hurt. And under most other circumstances, I would've been rather worried.

"I see we've progressed to the thinly veiled metaphor of waving our dicks around and comparing them," I said. "I take it this means you don't want the sandwich?"

"No. I present a third option to you, Wizard Dresden: turn around and leave, and no harm will come to you," Gauthier said, pointing _Joyeuse_ at me.

"See, here's the thing: your 'third option' revolves around me being scared of _Joyeuse_. And I'll admit, it is a scary sword. But there's just one problem with that assumption." I took a bite out of the sandwich; it really was tasty. Lacked tomatoes though.

"Mine's bigger," I said. With my mouth full, it came out like Sean Connery had spoken. Then I pulled _Amoracchius_ a foot out of its scabbard.

Supposedly, God once said, "Let there be light", and there was light. Well, this time God didn't say anything.

But there was still light.

It exploded out like a supernova, sharp and blinding and drawing a multitude of cries. But Gauthier got the worst of it. The light banished the cold, replacing it with the smell of sizzling flesh aflame with white fire.

The power of the Swords, when it came down to it, was to level the playing field. To try and take the supernatural out of the equation, to let an otherwise regular man fight monsters. And depending on the monster in question, it did that in different ways. Against demons, Red and Black vampires, transformed Denarians, Dragons, and so on, the ones where there was no difference between form and power, I wasn't too sure how it worked. Maybe it offered protection. Maybe it elevated the wielder. Maybe it just provided literally divine oodles of luck.

But one time, I'd faced down Nicodemus with _Fidelacchius_ on my back. That time, I'd almost strangled him, and he survived only because his daughter saved him at the last moment. That time, _Fidelacchius_ had fought back Anduriel's shadow and kept it from tearing me apart or throwing it away or whatever the androgynously voiced Fallen had wanted to do.

Now, there was a long list of ways in which Gauthier and Nicodemus were different. One was older and a lot harder to kill, for one. More patient. More paranoid. One was a lot prettier. But in my opinion, they both shared one rather key detail:

They were both humans, drawing power from a bonded, but still technically independent power source. And boy, was Gauthier tapping into it right now.

The light of _Amoracchius _dimmed as Gauthier backed up, flailing and screaming, and fell into the water of the pond, though even then he didn't stop struggling. As everyone else watched in shocked silence I stood there, eating my sandwich. Only once I was done did I let_ Amoracchius_ fall back into its scabbard, and regular old sunlight shone down on the clearing again.

"So, Blandine," I said idly.

The succubus whirled on me, posture tense. Her face looked raw and unattractive, like she'd spent eight hours in a tanning bed.

"When your brother fishes himself out of that pond, do tell him to, as your niece put it, fuck off," I said. "Or he gets another ray of sunshine."

Then I bundled up the cloth I'd been holding the sandwich in, stuffed it into a pocket, took up my staff, and turned around and strode away. I walked alone for about two to three seconds before Tim and Lucille caught up. If Gauthier had any other people in the woods around us, they didn't come out.

Tim and Lucille were both dead silent as we walked through the trees. I think they were both rather stunned. It wasn't until we broke the tree line that one of them finally found their voice.

"What did you name that sword, then?" Tim asked.

"I didn't name it anything," I said. "It had one when I got it."

"Then what is it called?"

"_Amoracchius_," I said. "The Sword of Love."

* * *

Author's Note: And thus ends Chapter V.

To answer: yes, Joyeuse was an actual threat there, and he had some other contingencies, Gauthier wasn't feeling wildly overconfident. He just wasn't expecting _that_.


	72. Harry II

**Actual POV**

Earlier in the day, Eva had managed to beat Molly's record for potion-mishap-caused property damage, and I'm not even sure how she managed it. Everything had been fine, and between when I left to grab a cup of water and I came back, everything had gone wrong. Thankfully Eva hadn't gotten hurt, but my lab had been contaminated and some of my journals damaged. So after making sure everyone was okay and sending Eva back with Ælfflæda, I had started on the process of rewriting the destroyed segments.

I was putting the finishing touches on the whole lot of nothing that had happened over the past four-and-a-half months when someone knocked at my door. I sighed, put the quill aside, and looked up – then jumped.

"Hell's –"

The wardflame that warned me about people approaching my house was an angry, enormous red, so big it was licking at the walls. I quickly extinguished it and then started thinking furiously. Anything that strong should've triggered the wards around Berkhamsted even if they came in through the Nevernever, so someone either managed to bypass them or tear them down without me noticing and now they were right here, in front of my house.

I stood up quickly, called first my staff and then Snickers to my hands, and prepared to fight when the strident voice of a young woman, muffled by a few layers of wood, called out in rather accented English, "Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden! You have guests."

That made me freeze. No one was supposed to know my name. I'd never shared it with anyone. Even my friends only knew the initials. The only way this person could know my name was if they had some kind of Intellectus or–

Oh. Right. There was one person.

"The Archive?" I called out hesitantly.

"Who else?"

I tentatively made my way into the foyer, brought down the door-linked wards, and opened the door. Then I properly realized what the Archive had said.

Standing in front of the right-hand door from my perspective was a young woman clad in a long, clingy green dress. She looked to be in her early twenties, with dark olive skin, light-brown curls that came down to her shoulders, and blue eyes. She was slim and short, but not unhealthily so, and could easily have found work as a model in more modern times.

And then there was the man to her right. I had to crane my neck slightly up to look at him properly. He was seven feet tall, his thin frame covered by a dark purple, nearly black cloak that went from head to toe and included a hood that normally would hide his face. He had a long face with sharp features, and a short beard and head of hair. One of his eyes had scars somewhat similar to mine, though where I had escaped with my eye, he hadn't. His replacement was a plain silver ball bearing.

"Gatekeeper," I managed.

"Harry," he said. His accent wasn't like I remembered it, lacking the British-ness it had in the future, and I still couldn't place the rest of his accent any closer than "Middle Eastern."

I looked down at who I presumed to be the Archive. "Did he, uh…"

"He did not hear your middle names. I'm not careless," the Archive said. Up close, her accent was very obviously Greek, though with a mix of various other accents as well, like Saxon.

I spent a few seconds looking between the Archive, who stood there with a placid expression and open hands, and the Gatekeeper, who leaned on a large, dark staff almost as tall as he was, and wondered who the bigger threat was right now. "I'm guessing this isn't a social call?" I asked.

"Not quite," the Gatekeeper murmured.

"Well. Uh." I stepped back and lowered the rest of the wards, figuring that being impolite in this instance couldn't possibly end well for me. "Come in?"

"Thank you," the Archive said, then stepped inside. The Gatekeeper followed a moment later.

"How did you get past my detection wards?" I asked as I closed the door.

"Veil," the Archive replied. "As to why, I wished to repay some of the irritation you have consistently visited upon me."

"Uhm… sorry?"

I led the pair inside into the main room, put down my staff and sword, and went to get some clean cups and old, boiled-then-preserved water. When I came back the Archive was peering over Snickers, while the Gatekeeper sat calmly in the chair nearest the one at the head of the table. I poured water for everyone, then handed the cups out. None of it was cold or even cool, as the room had turned quite toasty over the past minute.

"Gatekeeper, your questions have primacy," the Archive said idly, pausing only to grab the cup I offered before returning to her inspection.

I sat down across from the man and tried not to look nervous.

"Do you know why I am here?" the Gatekeeper asked.

"I'd say because of everything I said to Malfoy, but that was almost a year ago," I said.

"In part. There is also the matter of your temporal translocation."

I took a long drink. "You, uh, you know about that," I said.

"I've suspected for a while," he said. "But the Archive confirmed it on the way here. Her explanation has done much to alleviate my concerns, but not entirely."

I nodded jerkily. "Okay."

"Now, the part that is of most concern to me: describe to me, in detail, your encounter with the Walker," he said.

I drank some more water, took a deep breath, and did so. I told Rashid what I'd told my godmother, about how I ran away, what I tried to do, how it appeared, how I beat it, and so on. He questioned me on some points, particularly Justin and how I fought. By the end of the story, the Gatekeeper looked disturbed.

"A Walker should not have been free to walk this earth, not without much effort and sacrifice," he said.

"Really?" I asked.

The Gatekeeper furrowed his brow. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's just… I saw it get summoned through a botched ritual, years later. One woman with only a small amount of power screwed up and it puppeted her corpse, briefly, to tell me it was returned."

His brow furrowed further. "From a single sacrifice?"

"Well… maybe. She and a few others had been sacrificing people to the Walker to send out some powerful entropy curses, but they couldn't have sacrificed more than a dozen people," I said.

"Hmm. This is very concerning," he said.

"The Walker could have been summoned beforehand," the Archive commented. "Which would have greatly simplified subsequent callings, so long as it was on the material plane."

"Yet he believes he defeated the Walker," the Gatekeeper replied.

"Walkers are not bound to tell the truth," the Archive replied. "It could have faked defeat."

"Perhaps," the Gatekeeper allowed, then turned back to me.

"So?" I asked hesitantly.

"In my opinion, you are exactly what you appear to be: a man unfortunately cast adrift across time," he said. "Unfortunately, your boasts to Wizard Malfoy have attracted the attention and concern of the Senior Council, to which there is no adequate explanation at present."

"Yeah," I said. "I'm guessing 'I'm a time traveler from the far future' won't go over too well."

"Indeed not," he said.

"Then, Rashid– uh, can I call you Rashid?" I asked.

"If you wish. Were we acquainted?" he asked.

"Vaguely," I said. "We met a few times. Talked a bit. You gave me a bit of help once or twice. That's about it."

Rashid nodded.

"What are the exact points the Senior Council is tripping over?" I asked.

"The primal ghouls, the great demons, the warlocks and necromancers, and the Walker," Rashid said.

"The second one's easy, Denarians, done," I said. "And for everything else can't you just cover that up behind 'it was centuries ago'?"

"The Senior Council is unlikely to accept such a claim, at least as a full answer," Rashid said. "And they will definitely desire a full explanation regarding the Walker."

"Alhazred," the Archive said, finally turning around to face us.

Rashid frowned. I looked confused. "The guy who wrote the Necronomicon?" I asked.

Rashid and the Archive both looked at me then. And I mean _looked_.

"Uh… what?" I asked.

"Yes, that is correct," Rashid said calmly. "How do you know that?"

"There was an author in my time, Lovecraft, who wrote a bunch of books about stuff like the Old Ones, and the Necronomicon," I said. "They got sort of famous."

The Archive looked at me harder.

"What kind of hellscape was your past?" she asked.

"I'm not sure how to answer that question," I said slowly.

Rashid, meanwhile, was stroking his beard with concern. "I thought knowledge of the Necronomicon eradicated, outside certain portions of the Council. I will need to revisit that assumption." He shook his head and looked over at the Archive. "What about the Mad Arab?"

The Archive spent a little while longer looking at me, then turned to face Rashid. "Very few beings are aware of when and how and to whom he died," she said. "It would be simple to attach Harry as an unknowing participant in that debacle."

Rashid stroked his beard some more, then drank some water. Finally, he said, "Perhaps. That would prompt more questions, however."

"The only one who could force you to answer has been dead for years," the Archive replied.

"That is true," Rashid conceded, then turned to face me again. "It seems you've lived a very exciting life."

"Yeah, just chock full of it," I replied dryly. "In fact I can never seem to get enough of it."

Rashid smiled faintly. "We should talk more, when I have the time to dedicate to a… 'social call', as you said. And I'm intrigued by your description of the Wardens. I don't think it is an institution that we require right now, in the sense of enforcing the Laws, but a more dedicated arm of protectors is definitely worthwhile. I look forward to seeing what you do with Hogwarts."

It took me a few seconds to fully process what he just said, at which point I frowned. "Uhm… what?" I asked intelligently. "Are you… encouraging me to start the Wardens?"

Rashid's eye twinkled. "Did I say that?" He stood up, picked up his staff, and nodded to me. Then he glanced at the Archive. "Don't forget about our companion."

"I'll get to him, don't worry," she said.

Rashid nodded, said farewell, and then left the room. I heard the front door open and close a few seconds later.

"Companion?" I asked.

"I'll get to him," the Archive repeated, taking a seat across from me.

I nodded slowly. "Okay. What should I call you? The Archive, something else?"

"Eve," she said.

I blinked. "Huh."

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing, I just… wasn't expecting a name, is all," I said.

Eve frowned, the motion kind of pushing her lips up and out. "Why?" she asked.

"Well, it's just that when I met the Archive in my time, she said she didn't have a… a familiar name. I think that's what she said, anyway," I said.

"Curious," Eve said. "She may not have wanted to share it, but she definitely should have had a name. Is she the Ivy you wrote about?"

"Yeah. I came up with that name actually, and she stuck with it," I said.

Eve's frown deepened. "How old was she?"

"When I first met her? Seven."

Eve hissed. "That's far too young. What happened to her mother?"

"Uh..." I wracked my brain. "She killed herself, a little bit after inheriting the Archive and, I guess shortly after giving birth to Ivy?"

For a few seconds the air practically crackled with power as Eve's expression turned into one of complete, utter, absolute contempt. "What a bitch," she seethed. Then she shook her head, the moment passed, and I didn't die of a heart attack. She looked up at me and sighed. "My apologies. I shouldn't have lost control."

"It's… fine," I got out.

"It clearly isn't," she said. "You have not put your wards back up, have you?"

I shook my head.

"Good." She switched chairs to one closer to me, the windows in the corner opening on their own as she moved, and after she sat down she pulled a large hookah out of… somewhere. She lit it, and started puffing. "Every Archive struggles with the burden of carrying on. I myself was forced to inherit at a young, if not necessarily early age. But to willfully condemn your infant daughter to a fate like that…" She shook her head. "I hope she burned in hell. It's no wonder Ivy didn't have a name until you gave one to her. She probably barely even had an identity."

"She didn't seem that bad when I met her," I said.

"Hmm." The Archive puffed a few times, blowing the smoke out in the direction of the windows, before sighing. "Do you have alcohol? Some beer or ale or wine?"

"Yeah."

"Go get it."

I went to go grab some beer I'd bought from a local tavern, and when I came back Eve had rearranged a few chairs and somehow produced a pillow, and was currently lounging and smoking. I set a cup down in front of her and poured her a beer, and she nodded in thanks.

"How are you doing that?" I asked. "The hookah and pillow and… whatever else."

"Magic," she said with a wave of her hand.

"Well, duh, obviously, but can I get a little more?" I asked.

"Do you ever give me any context?" she asked archly. "Or explanation? Or anything other than endless questions?"

"Uh…"

"No," she said, gesturing in my direction with the hookah. "So you can live with the confusion and the questions just as I have." The cup started floating on its own, and she only picked it up once it was in front of her mouth. She downed the entire cup in one go, then slammed it down on the table.

"Can I ask why you're here?" I asked.

"You just did," she said. "But to answer that question, I'm here to meet with you. And screw with you. And…" She trailed off thoughtfully. "Screw you? Is that a proper euphemism for you?"

I coughed and spluttered, her question having come as I'd started drinking. "I'm… ugh… I'm seeing someone, you know," I said.

Eve shrugged. "And? It's just sex." The small cask of beer floated and angled itself over the cup to pour into it.

"I…" I took a deep breath. "Okay. You want to get some petty revenge on me. I get it."

Eve smirked and leaned forward, her dress starting to slide off of her. "Do you now?" she asked sensuously.

I held up my hands, closed my eyes, and looked away. A moment later Eve laughed, and I dared to squint in her direction. She'd resumed her prior position, the dress back in place.

"Ælfflæda and the Sidhe stalking you have the right idea; this _is_ fun," she said.

I scowled in her direction. "You are not what I expected. At all."

"What, did you expect some staid, boring nun?" she asked. "Pah. As if. I'm young, vibrant, and beautiful, and I fully intend to enjoy the best years of my life while I can, because the moment I choose to bear a child, I have to be careful and cautious and motherly." She downed another full cup of beer. "But very well. I'll humor you somewhat and come to the other of the two reasons I came to see you: your headaches."

I frowned. "What about them?"

"I think you want to figure out what they mean, and I believe I know," she said. "These headaches started shortly after you lost your shadow – Lash, yes?"

I nodded. "That's right."

"How long ago was her death, from your perspective? In years, I mean."

"I'd say… seven and a half, eight, depending on whether we count the time I spent dead before coming back as a soul," I said.

"Call it eight," Eve said. "And she sacrificed herself for you?"

"She took a psychic bullet for me," I confirmed.

"And there you are again with your futuristic metaphors," she sighed. "Would you say it was an act of love?"

The question caught me off guard. I gulped, was silent for a few seconds, and then said, "I… I'd say so. I think."

Eve nodded. "And the headaches have been getting worse with time, from the moment you started having them?"

I nodded, and Eve smirked. "Well, Harry Dresden, I gleefully inform you that you are going through some of the pain and inconvenience known to every mother."

I furrowed my brow. "Wait, what?"

Eve laughed. "You, Harry, are pregnant."

I stared at Eve in complete, flabbergasted silence. "But… uh… what?"

"I take it you've heard the tale of Zeus and Athena?" Eve asked.

My eyes went wide, and my thoughts spiraled off into the cavernous warrens of my mind. The first response that came up was, "But I didn't eat Lash!"

Eve laughed some more. "Perhaps not in the literal sense…" she trailed off suggestively.

"I never had sex with her either!" I said. "Or mind-sex. Or… whatever."

Eve arched an eyebrow. "Really? For shame." Her expression grew serious. "In any case, you are currently the bearer of a nascent spirit of intellect. Under normal circumstances this wouldn't be a serious problem, most spirits of intellect born in this way simply don't form with enough knowledge to be a deadly threat to their mortal parent. But considering what Lash was, this gestating spirit full of incomprehensible quantities of knowledge is quite literally growing too large for your skull."

"So… I'm going to die by head explosion?" I asked.

"If the spirit is not extracted before that point, yes," Eve replied. "But there is also something distinctly different in your case."

I took a few deep breaths to calm myself down, then considered her words. "The memories," I guessed.

"The memories," she agreed. "They should not be leaking over. It would be as if… as if a growing child started spreading beyond the womb somehow. It should be impossible, or at least terminally deadly. But somehow you have managed to maintain this state for years, and I can only assume it is somehow the product of your stay in Avalon."

"Like… like my head exploded, and then got put back together, but not all the way, by Avalon, or on Avalon?" I asked.

Eve shrugged. "Potentially. Or the sheer size and power of the spirit meant this was inevitable, and Avalon's influence simply bought you more time and ensured it was not lethal. Or I could be completely wrong; as I said, I assumed your current state was impossible, and yet here we are."

"So you have no clue why I'm different?" I asked.

"No."

That was a little terrifying, to put it simply. If even the Archive had no clue what was going on... "Okay," I said. "So, what can I do? Obviously I don't want my head to explode."

"That would be a true shame," she agreed. "And is where I come in, potentially."

"You can get it out?" I asked.

"Most likely a her, or rather she," Eve said. "Most spirits are indeed sexless but considering Lash… saw herself as female, from what I understand, that preference is likely to carry over."

I blinked leaned back in my seat. "A daughter," I said slowly, mulling the thought over.

"Yes. Now, as things stand right now, I can't quite help you. As the Archive I am allowed to provide information, within reason, but I can only rarely act beyond that, let alone in such a significant way. I can only bend that restriction for an exchange, when someone provides a service for the Archive, or the Archive incurs a debt, something of the sort."

"Okay. What can I offer you?" I asked.

"Right now, unfortunately, not much. However, symmetry is pleasing, and if you agreed to have sex with me and at some point get me pregnant, I could deliver your daughter for you." She smoked as I coughed and spluttered. "But I think that's not happening."

I got my breathing under control and looked at her. "Are you paralleling… _her_ offer deliberately?"

"No, I am not," Eve said. "Though she is another individual that could deliver your daughter."

"Absolutely fucking not," I said immediately. I was not letting Mab anywhere _near_ this child.

"I thought so."

I drank my own cup of beer to steady myself. Maybe not the best idea, but it was the one at hand. "So, okay. Say I'm considering this. You get pregnant and then, what, you leave, forever?" I asked.

"Essentially. Your only involvement with this hypothetical daughter of ours would be in the conception. When it comes to raising her, you would not be involved."

"Because of potential neutrality concerns," I guessed.

"Quite. In the case of regular fathers and lovers they aren't a problem as they are far more transient, but a powerful, long-lived wizard that may get involved with generations of the Archive can have a much larger impact. Which means that yes, you would have to be uninvolved."

I sighed and shook my head. "Yeah, I don't think I can do that. Just… have casual sex and abandon a child like that. That's not me."

Eve smiled wanly. "Well, good for you. And as I expected, really. But I still had to make the request." She poured and drank some more beer. "But can I interest you in the sex anyway? I guarantee it would be some of the best in your life; in fact, I'm rather interested to see how I'd match up to your knighting."

"I'm… going to have to pass on that one," I said.

"Really? What if it were me and your lover, and I gave advice for the future?"

I took a few deep breaths and tried to push the image out of my mind. In the meantime, Eve pouted and said, "Bah. Fine, be monogamous and boring."

"Can we get back to my impending death, please?" I asked.

"Of course," she said, turning serious again. "Well, excepting me and your stalker, the only other person with the proper combination of skill and trustworthiness would be Rowena Ravenclaw. She could likely perform the procedure, especially if you told her I told you to tell her to use her heirloom."

"Her heirloom?" I asked.

"She can explain it herself, should she choose to," Eve said. "But suffice it to say that she could do it. Though, it would be riskier than if I were to do it. And you are too amusing to let die in such a fashion…" She trailed off, humming. "I'm unsure what other options you have, really. From what you wrote you've already dug into the spirit's memories, and given the spirit has provided information unprompted before, it feels safe to assume that the details regarding psychomancy you retrieved and provided Rowena were all the relevant pieces the spirit retains. Perhaps you could prevail on Rowena to put you in touch with the Sidhe that safeguarded her inheritance, she could manage as well, but that would be quite the disaster."

"Why?"

"Ask her, and if she decides to tell you, it should become obvious," Eve replied. "Perhaps I could offer a more limited exchange? Sex for some preliminary work to make the process easier?"

"What is it with you people and using sex transactionally?" I demanded. "Seriously, why?"

"Well, the Winter Queen is of Winter, whereas in my case sex _is_ transactional," she said. "It's an exchange of pleasure, nothing more."

"I don't agree with that in the slightest. And even if I did, why me? That's the part I don't get."

"You're handsome, powerful, capable, and not too old. What's not to like?" Eve asked in a rhetorical tone.

I sighed and put up a hand. "Look, I'm seeing someone. That's the start and end of it. And, on a different note, do you believe this procedure would be the difference between my life and death, honestly?"

"It would improve your odds, but I suppose it is not crucial." She sighed and smoked some more. "You really are suicidally brave and loyal, aren't you?"

"Seems to be a common theme with me," I replied. "I've gotten complaints about it before."

Eve sighed. "No wonder you were chosen." Before I could ask what she meant, she reached into a small slit in her dress I hadn't even realized was there and then pulled out a tiny model of a chest. She floated it over the middle of the table, and then it rapidly expanded and changed until it resembled a giant suitcase. She opened one of the compartments, and a moment later a large, swan-sized, scarlet-plumed bird with a golden beak and talon and a long peacock-esque tail flew out and settled down in front of me.

I stared in sheer incomprehension for what felt like a full minute. Finally, I managed an intelligent, "Uhwha?"

"Congratulations Harry Dresden," Eve said dryly. "A phoenix has taken mercy on you and chosen you as his companion."

"_Uhwha?_" I asked. I gesticulated wildly at the phoenix with both hands. "What?"

The apparent fucking phoenix then chose that moment to lean forward and shed a single tear, which fell onto the skin of my right hand. Immediately, a million different tiny aches I hadn't even realized I'd been living with suddenly fell away and I sighed in relief. The shift was so sudden, so great, that I missed the next few seconds, and only caught on to the end of the phoenix's crooning.

"Yes, I know, he's an idiot," Eve said.

"I take offense to that," I said, my voice sounding remarkably clear even to myself.

"See, he's even too stupid to realize it," Eve said to the phoenix.

I shook my head, looked over at the phoenix, and said, "Thank you. Really."

The phoenix trilled in response.

I glanced over at Eve. "Does he have a name?"

"Not one you or I could pronounce or even truly comprehend," Eve said. The phoenix trilled some more, and she added, "Though he will accept a suitable moniker or nickname."

"Oh, so we're back to that. In which case… _really_?" I asked. "I mean, really? Me? What the hell?"

"Are you that surprised at being chosen?"

"Uh, yeah, obviously," I said. "I mean it's a goddamn phoenix, why the hell is it interested in me, let alone letting me name it?"

"Because you're worthy," Eve said after waiting for the phoenix to trill.

"I just, I…" I took a deep breath and looked at the phoenix. "Okay. Okay. Fine. Whatever. He chose me. Alright. I should've learned this lesson with Mouse."

"You've mentioned him a few times in your writings. Who's Mouse?" Eve asked.

"My dog. He was a Temple Dog," I said.

Eve arched an eyebrow in surprise. "And you're surprised about the phoenix."

"Well obviously, one's a dog and this is a phoenix!"

She sighed. "They are really rather more similar than you imagine."

I sighed and shook my head. "Okay, fine, back on track, alright, uhm…" I looked at the phoenix, and spent a long time wondering what a good name would be. When one finally came to me, I almost smacked myself for not thinking of it earlier. "If you consent, I shall call you Guy. As in Guy Fawkes."

Eve let out an aggrieved groan. "_Another_ untimely reference?"

"Yes," I said. The phoenix trilled a second later, and I could tell he sounded pleased.

She sighed and shook her head. "You two deserve each other."

I turned from Guy to Eve. "Is there anything I should be aware of, in terms of looking after him? Or making sure my house doesn't burn down?"

"The phoenix–" Guy's trilling interrupted her, and she sighed. "_Guy _can handle the latter himself. As to the former, take care of him as you would any other bird: feeding, grooming, nesting, so on. He is not substantially different in that regard."

"Okay. Will anything do for nesting material?" I asked.

"You may wish to pick something not easily flammable," she said. "Or rather, a material that won't spread beyond the container. And that is something you can handle yourself, thank you very much."

She pulled her legs back and stood up, putting her hookah and pillow back into the pseudo-suitcase. As she closed everything back up and shrunk the suitcase back down, she paused. "How did Lash make herself known to you?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You've described how you came to touch the coin. You've described how she perished, and some of what she did for you, how you resisted her influence. But how did she start, or first appear?"

"Well…" I looked over at Guy hesitantly, then figured that he was probably more informed than I figured, and wasn't going to get hung up about the Hellfire I didn't have access to anymore. "There was a bit of Hellfire, at first, but she first appeared to me in disguise, sort of. She created a persona and illusion of a woman called Shiela, and tried to catch my interest with her, seduce me. It worked fairly well, I'll admit; she hit my interests and fooled me for a few days, and I only figured it out once some oddities were pointed out to me."

"I see," she said. "Oh, yes, and your condition. Especially with… _Guy's_ assistance, you should be fine for the next month, though delaying past mid-November is not a good idea. And on review, Rowena should be able to handle the process without any further guidance." She put the suitcase away and smoothed out her dress. "And good luck on your journey."

"My journey?"

Eve cocked her head. "You do wish to avoid death, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"Then aren't you going to see Rowena and explain everything?" Eve asked. "The sooner she knows the sooner the two of you can start preparing for the delivery."

Then, without another word, Eve turned around and left. I waited until she was gone, then let out a sigh of relief. That had been… terrifying, to say the least. Though at least I'd managed to avoid broaching any topics that might get her to kill me.

I looked over at Guy. Eve's farewell had seemed strangely insistent to me, less an idea and more a strongly-worded suggestion. And so if haste was necessary…

"Say, Guy," I asked. "You can fly, right?"

* * *

Author's Note: So there is a _lot_ in this part. A lot a lot a lot. I hope you enjoy. I have one last Actual POV planned for this stretch of the story, for one of the climax points of this chapter. Also, for reference, this chapter is set in mid-to-late October 1070.


	73. Chapter 6-I

**October 1070**

Note to self: yes, phoenixes can fly. Yes, phoenixes can support a grown man by their tail feathers without either the phoenix or the man getting tired.

Yes, flying by _dangling off the back of a phoenix _is terrifying.

We left town before experimenting with that, which took a bit of work when it came to Guy; I ultimately finagled him into my coat so people didn't notice him. It ended up looking like I was smuggling a toddler, and I'm fairly certain that it was only my reputation for being "that weird wizard" that prevented anyone from trying to stop me. Before I left, I stuck a note to my door saying that I was out for an indeterminate period, probably a few days, and to look after Shadowfax while I was gone.

We made our way to the edge of the woods, to the clearing where Tim and I had practiced months ago, the one that was just out of sight of the walls, and then took off. Thus started the aforementioned phoenix dangling.

Now, here's the major difference between traveling on horseback and by phoenix-tail: on a good day, a good, fit horse can manage thirty miles, and it can manage this pace more or less indefinitely. You can push faster, up to forty or fifty or even sixty miles, but that involves the equivalent of sprinting for long periods of time and tires out the horse. The point is, compared to cars, horses were slow.

A phoenix flies much like a large, fit falcon. In other words, it averages a horizontal flight speed of somewhere between fifty and sixty miles _an hour_. It's almost like an airborne motorbike.

Rowena lived about a hundred miles north-west of Berkamsted. On Shadowfax it took me anywhere between three and five days to get there depending on weather, season, and resulting conditions. With Guy, it took less than two hours.

Oh yeah, and have I mentioned it was terrifying? Because it really, really was.

Other fun fact: phoenixes, like hunting birds, also seem to have great eyesight. Either that or they have some mystical danger sense, like Mouse did. Maybe both. Any way you slice it, shortly after Rowena's tower started looking less like a stick coming out of the ground and more like a proper tower, Guy's trilling and crooning changed from amused – likely at my terror – to concerned. And then it cut off entirely.

The Archive had made the comparison between him and Mouse when we met, so I took that as a cue to bring my staff around. And yes, I had a death-grip on it for the whole two hours.

As we got closer, I saw what the problems were. First, on the approach, I noticed that the door to Rowena's tower was open, and no one was there. Second, on the descent – a staggered series of dives to lose altitude fast without splattering me against the ground – her tower's wards weren't entirely up. Rowena hadn't bothered with "subtlety" or "disguise" when it came to her wards, so anyone with talent that got within a few hundred feet could feel the power coming off the tower. It was such an ever-present feature that I'd gotten used to it years ago. And right then, it was down.

I hit the ground at a light, stumbling run about twenty feet short of the entrance. As I righted myself and Guy came down to perch on my shoulder, I noticed that the door hadn't been forced and the wards didn't feel like they'd been torn, which suggested an ambush. She'd either come out to go somewhere or she'd opened the door for someone.

I didn't spot any drag marks by the door, which didn't actually tell me much, and a peek through the door showed no signs of damage or fighting. There were tracks by the door though, large and fresh boot prints, some leading away from the door.

"Shit," I cursed, glancing at the door. I wasn't much of a nature-tracker, and I didn't know if I had time to waste looking for some object of thaumaturgic value. Moreover, if I came inside I'd be entering uninvited, which would seriously hamper me if the attacker was still around, watching. Whoever had managed this had taken on a witch in or near her home; I'd be so much more limited if I entered a tower warded in unknown ways.

I pulled the door closed before heading to the "stable area", which was really more of a post to tie a horse to. I'd spotted a horse on the way down, and since Rowena didn't own a horse, that suggested the culprit was still close by, and I wanted to see if there were any hints carried on the horse. I didn't spot anything immediately useful – saddle, bags, stirrup, so on – but there was something familiar about the horse itself, almost like I recognized it. It took me a few seconds to realize that I did recognize it: specifically, as Cuthbert's horse.

I stood there dumbfounded for a few moments. What the hell was Cuthbert's horse doing outside Rowena's tower? He was supposed to be at his parents', probably talking about marriage prospects. That had been Eva's assumption, one she'd cheerfully informed me about. It had also been Elfleda's, though her reaction had been more muted; to her eyes, he'd seemed to have progressed beyond observation to pursuit.

I frowned and walked back to the entrance. My gut suggested this was Gauthier finally making a move, but I just didn't get how – how he knew about Rowena, how he'd gotten to her, why he'd gone after her, and how the hell Cuthbert was involved. No vampire could get into Berkhamsted without me knowing about it, I'd touched up the detection wards the moment I'd come back, and even if one did manage to slip by and get in, then Elfleda could've detected them, or their influence. And even _if_ Elfleda somehow missed one, I doubt they could've avoided her and Lucille and Tim, who at this point were very committed to the whole "no other vampires in Berkhamsted" idea.

It just didn't make _sense_ to me.

But I didn't have the time to worry about that right now. Eve's "suggestion" made a lot more sense in the current context. I didn't know much about the restrictions the Archive labored under, but I knew she had issues with sharing "confidential information." She probably couldn't have told me that Rowena was under attack or would be attacked soon, especially if Gauthier was somehow involved, but she could make the entirely sensible "suggestion" that I should see her as soon as possible. Which meant that Rowena must've still been close by.

The initial tracks looked clear at least, like the person hadn't taken any care to hide them. I drew up a rough veil around me, pushing out the radius a bit as I did so. I wasn't great with veils; even after years of teaching Molly, the best I could manage was a kind of blurring effect, one that made it look and feel like I was seeing through dark, thin fabric. As a result, I needed the wider area to properly see the tracks at my feet.

The tracks led into a small grove of trees just south of the tower. I strained my ears and Listened as I approached, and heard the faint sound of struggling.

"Right, screw this," I snarled.

I picked up the pace and ran in the direction of the sounds, still maintaining my veil. Years of practice had made me a good skulker, but right now I needed speed over stealth. And coincidentally, years of practice combined with my height made me a hell of a sprinter.

I burst through the trees like a raging bull, swerving my way around trees as I had to. It took me about thirty seconds to reach the source of the sounds and spot a trio of figures: one standing, one struggling on the ground, hands bound by something I couldn't quite make out, and a third in the process of getting up off the second.

I dropped the veil, quickly identified the first as Cuthbert, the second as Rowena, and the third as a way-too-beautiful woman, and punched the air with my left hand.

The windfall from saving the ungrateful king's ass combined with the continued generosity from Robert had allowed me to get back most of my old, pre-death tools. Of particular interest in this case were the seven extra force rings I'd acquired.

Now unfortunately, I hadn't managed to find a silverworker willing to make the banded set of rings I used to possess, not without charging a rather significant premium, so I had to settle for just getting eight rings while I continued to search for someone that would perform that work at an acceptable price. But all that really meant was I had to get a little more clever with the enchantments and the application of force.

Rather than having twenty-four separate bands that steadily built up a charge strong enough to send a man flying, I just had eight rings that could be a little more… targeted.

I shot off two of the rings on my left hand, one at the chest of the probable-vampire, and one at the legs. The force lanced out faster than the woman could react and hit her with a loud, tearing crack, accompanied with a flash of light. When it faded she was still standing, so I repeated the process with the other two rings. This time they connected and sent her flying back into a tree.

At the same time, Cuthbert physically stuttered, his expression somewhat blank, and brought around his sword to face me. He tried to swing at me, but I'd been practicing against Tim and Cuthbert's comparatively slower attack just couldn't cut it. I grabbed my staff in my left hand, swiped my right hand around while bringing up a quick shield, and jerked Cuthbert to the side through his sword. Then I swung my staff around and tripped him.

"_Laqueus!_" I yelled as I ran by, wrapping the silver-white cord around Cuthbert and binding his arms to his sides. I leapt over Rowena, in the direction of the recovering vampire, took my staff in two hands, and swung it down on her head, pouring some magic into the staff to give it that extra _oomph_. The succubus' skull cracked in a satisfying manner, and she dropped to the ground, dazed.

I'd like to see someone do _that_ with a wand.

Still, I was keenly aware of the degree and speed of healing vampires possessed, so I knew that would only put her down for a couple of moments if she was well fed. Killing her would be easy, and felt like a very attractive option in that moment, but I needed information, which meant I needed to immobilize her somehow.

I glanced between her and Cuthbert and Rowena, did some mental calculations and then shot out another "_Laqueus!_" to bind the succubus with, this time going the extra mile to slip the cord around her in such a way as to contort her into the shape of a gift-basket, arms and legs bound together behind her back.

"Harry?" Rowena panted, her eyes too wide and her breathing too fast.

"Just a second," I said. It took a bit of improvisation to attach and tightly bind the two cords to my staff and have them stay that way, but after I managed it, I drove my staff into the ground, out of the succubus' possible range of movement, and moved over to inspect Rowena. She looked mostly fine, if a bit manic and dirty, but her hands were tightly bound together with something that looked like fine silk but felt cold to the touch.

"I can't… I can't…"

"Yeah, I figured," I said. "Thorn manacles of some sort." I ground my teeth together and thought.

Okay, evidently these restraints were White Court styled, hence the silk. But the actual restraints, the thorn manacles, would be something else. Probably faerie-made, if I remembered what Lash had told me correctly, as the faeries had been the first to make them, and recently at that. Roughly. Probably. Which meant that under the styling they were troll-made. In which case, I just had to take off the covering and expose them to a good, heavy dose of iron and sunlight.

I tore at the silk coating, peeling it away and revealing a glimmering, icy, ugly, and barbed kind of bracelet. Then I leaned back to expose it to the sunlight filtering through the tree line, and pulled out a little iron ball bearing from one of my pockets. Then I angled Rowena's hand until sunlight was shining on one of the exposed parts, and I smashed down on it with the ball bearing. The bracelet shattered and Rowena whimpered. I grimaced, then repeated the process with the other manacle. Then I helped her up partway, and sat her down against a tree, Guy hopping off my shoulder and into her lap, crooning softly all the way.

"Rest, alright?" I said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I'll sort this out."

Rowena looked up at me, the unnatural mania fading into a kind of horror, and it looked like she wanted to argue. But between whatever Cuthbert and the succubus had done, my arrival, and now whatever Guy was doing, she was overwhelmed. She opened her mouth, breathed heavily for a few moments, and then nodded and looked down, tentatively reaching out to stroke Guy. I glanced at the phoenix and nodded.

Then I got back up, turned around to face the two bound individuals, and patted my hands together.

"Now, what the hell happened here?" I muttered.

* * *

Author's Note: And now, the beginning of the end.


	74. Chapter 6-II

**October 1070**

First order of business: Cuthbert. The vampire could wait.

I didn't believe for a second that he was here because he'd been genuinely convinced that _Rowena_ of all people was somehow a threat. Moreover, he'd moved stiffly and his expression was even less emotive than usual. He had all the signs of being an unwilling thrall. Inconsistency one.

I nervously rubbed my fingers together as I sat down near him, briefly glancing at the vampire to make sure she was still stuck before turning my Sight on Cuthbert. He looked pitiful really, dull and gray and bound by tight knots of white energy. It made my stomach churn. Was I responsible for this, partially? I'd never told Cuthbert about vampires, and now he'd been enthralled by one. Was that on me?

I closed my Sight with a sigh and then said, "Guy." When the phoenix turned his head, I gestured at Cuthbert. Guy tilted his head slightly, putting an eye on both Rowena and Cuthbert, and after a few seconds quickly fluttered over to Cuthbert. He'd been struggling ever since I'd restrained him, but when Guy settled down next to him and continued crooning, he settled down.

I wasn't going to be getting any answers for him a while. He'd recover, eventually; the vampire had clearly needed him cognizant and mobile, but I didn't want to push him. Before I stood up though, I gently took his sword out of his hands. Then I stalked over to the vampire.

Her wrists and ankles were slightly chafed, the product of her trying to get out of her bindings, but she didn't have the strength to break my cords. I moved to sit down in front of her, a few feet away, and coughed loudly. She awkwardly craned her neck to face me.

From up close, I could see that she matched Elfleda's description of the mystery vampire from France: curly black hair, brown eyes, a figure that could uncharitably have been called pudgy, and by contrast a face full of sharp lines. In fact it even looked somewhat familiar, and it took me a few seconds to put the shape of her nose and the shape of her face together with Blandine, Gauthier's sister. Was this Blandine's daughter, then? Or another mystery aunt?

She had a fearful expression on her face and whimpered, "Please, he made me."

A likely story. I mean, I expected Gauthier to try and come after me somehow, but escalating to Rowena was just crazy. And it wasn't as if it was somehow necessary; seeing as how this vampire had managed to ensnare Cuthbert and gave him thorn manacles, he and a few less enthralled helpers might've been able to ambush me after getting me to open my door. That would have satisfied Gauthier's need for revenge, removed the only real barrier to his kids, and not risked escalation with the Council, just my own friend-group. But this?

I guess she must've thought I was slightly naïve for sheltering the Renouth twins and thought I could be swayed by a pretty face and a sob story. Well, okay, maybe on occasion, but I had a quick way of checking if she was genuine. But if she was trying to throw herself on my mercy, I figured it was better to play along to begin with and check later.

"Gauthier?" I asked, and she nodded jerkily. "Your uncle?"

"Yes," she said. Her tone was simpering and pathetic; if she was putting on a false front, she was better at it than Lucille. "Mother told me to do as he bid and he made me come here, to hurt you."

"Was he the one who gave you the bindings?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

I looked her over, trying to see where she'd hidden the wards that had blocked my force rings, but she wore a dress and I didn't feel like getting physical with a vampire. "And the charms? Where'd they come from?"

"Charms?" she asked.

"Your wards and defenses," I said, letting entirely real impatience leak into my tone. "What kept you from flying head over heels right away. I'm not buying that a man like Gauthier would give you thorn manacles and nothing else."

"He has a sorceress, a servant," she said without hesitation. "She made them. She's been watching you, and the castle, from the village."

"Berkhamsted?"

"Yes."

I frowned. There was one practitioner who had come to Berkhamsted recently, a short, middle-aged woman named Sofia. She was pretty, and had fairly quickly set up a niche for herself in Berkhamsted as the friendly and attractive herbalist to my, well, me-ness. We'd exchanged a few words, but I'd gotten the impression I scared her. I guess now I knew why.

Assuming, of course, this vampire was telling the truth.

Speaking of which: "What's your name?" I asked.

She balked, and since I wasn't feeling friendly I called up a little ball of sunshine to encourage her.

"What's your name?" I repeated, slowly floating the ball in her direction.

"Esther! Esther," she cried.

"Alright Esther. You see, you've done a few things you really shouldn't have. You enthralled a young man I was charged with looking after. You then compounded that mistake by attacking one of my friends. That's two strikes in my eyes. You lie, or leave anything out again, and you don't get the same consideration I gave your cousins. Now, what did you do with Cuthbert and the guard he left with?"

"The guard wasn't interesting. I fed on him and he's nearby, waiting," she said.

Possible, but I doubted that.

"The boy, the boy I took, made him talk. He told me about the witch, Rowena, and I told the sorceress and she told uncle and he told me to go after her," she said.

"Really now?" I asked. "Cuthbert's been gone for five days. How'd you manage that?"

"The sorceress can talk with uncle, I don't know how. An owl, I think," she said.

That was plausible. Likely, even. But things still didn't add up.

I braced myself and opened my Sight, turning it upon Esther. Her clothes fell away, predictably, and she shone with a painful silver light. Her skin had the quality of marble, but it was strewn and covered with blood. Up behind her back, her hands had half-turned into claws, the nails long and sharp and caked with gore. And the clincher was the gleeful, carefree, and faintly sadistic smile on her face.

I closed my Sight, extinguished the ball of sunshine, and stood up. "Alright Esther. I've heard your story. But seeing as how it's a stupid ass story, let me tell you what I think."

The vampire froze, her expression slightly cracking, the pitiful gleam in her eyes fading.

"Now, I don't know if Gauthier told you to do this or not. I can see it going either way, honestly. But whatever the case may be, you didn't do this for him. No, you did this for yourself. You weren't forced into doing anything here. If you were, you could've gone free at any time just by coming to me. You didn't." I brought Cuthbert's sword around. "I think that you think I'm an idiot for a pretty face that will let you go for a sob story and then you'll either run off or try and kill me."

Esther's eyes immediately went from a soft brown to a shining silver and she half belly-flopped, half-lunged in my direction. Sexily. The wave of lust slammed into me and physically staggered me, which turned out to be a mistake on her part. Had she kept it back, her flop, supercharged by vampiric bullshit, would've hit and bowled me over, leaving me under a ravenous, unfriendly vampire. As it was though, the extra distance was enough that she only nudged me back, and then fell to the ground screaming as the cord pulled taut.

I grimaced and swung Cuthbert's sword into her skull. Then I tore it out and did it again for good measure. She stopped squirming. 

* * *

I burned the corpse and then carefully helped Rowena and Cuthbert back to the tower. Cuthbert seemed withdrawn when I tried to interact with him. He could clearly hear me – he did what I said, mostly – but he stayed away from Rowena, and kept his eyes fixed to the ground and his mouth shut. He tried to peel away and go back to his horse, so I had to physically drag him into the tower.

The first floor of Rowena's tower was essentially storage space. Crates and bags and chests and shelves covered the walls and sprawled over most of the room. There was a small table and a pair of chairs a corner though. Rowena dragged them out through magic and set it in the middle, then took a seat. I looked at Cuthbert, but he just backed up as much as he could against the wall.

I sighed and sat down across from Rowena, who'd dug out a wet cloth from somewhere and was pressing it against the back of her head. As I did, Guy launched from my shoulder and flew over to Cuthbert, who slowly and grudgingly accepted the phoenix.

"Thank you," Rowena said quietly. Her tone was too calm for what had just happened, and I could see her knuckles going white from the strength of her grip.

"You're welcome," I said. "And I'm sorry."

Her head jerked up and she furrowed her brow, confused. "Why?"

"Well, for this," I said. "I got involved with vampires and it spilled over onto you."

Rowena was silent for a while, periodically taking deep breaths, before she shook her head. "No. It's partly my fault as well. I knew you were involved with vampires, and that some might be seeking vengeance. I should've checked Cuthbert when he came, not just let him in right away." She sighed heavily, and her grip tightened further. "It's just been… so long since I ever had to worry about my safety, I didn't think."

"Can I ask what happened?" I asked.

"Cuthbert came. He said something had happened to you and Eva and he didn't know who else to go to," she said. "I let him in. I turned around for a moment and then he must have hit me in the head. I was dazed. Then he put those… thorn manacles, you called them?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Those thorn manacles on me and then…" She shrugged helplessly. "Then the vampire. And you." Her expression turned flat. "I don't want to say anymore."

I nodded slowly. "Do you want me to stay?" I asked.

"Not really. I want to be alone." She took a deep breath. "But you came here for a reason and I need to distract myself, so go ahead."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes," she pressed.

I took a deep breath and glanced at Cuthbert. "Okay. Can you make us private for a bit?"

Rowena nodded, waved her wand, and muttered something vaguely Polish, and I felt a veil of sorts settle around us.

"Then I have good news, I guess," I said.

"I could very much use some right now," she said.

"Things are both more and less complicated with my memories now," I said. "You don't need to sort out my head or put them back together anymore."

She frowned. "I don't?"

"Well, you still actually do need to sort out my head. It's just… uh… I sort of have a spirit of intellect growing in there," I said.

Rowena blinked. "I'm sorry, I don't quite understand."

"When Lash died I guess the remains of her being coalesced into a new person. A spirit of intellect. Something with her memories," I said.

Rowena sat up straighter, a few of her nerves forgotten. "How do you know this?"

"The Archive showed up and told me," I said.

"Who or what is the Archive?" she asked.

"She's… essentially a repository of human knowledge," I said. "Knows everything that's ever been written down."

Rowena leaned forward. "And she visited you?"

"Yeah."

Intense curiosity and interest flickered across Rowena's eyes before she sighed and sat back, deflating. "I would very much like to meet her. And this spirit. But… I'm not sure how much of what I've learned and practiced will help now. I worked under the assumption I would have to… piece things together, not take something out."

"The Archive seemed to think you could manage it," I said. "If you used your heirloom, she said."

Rowena frowned, confused. "My heirloom–" Then her eyes widened. "Oh. _Oh_. Well, I can certainly see the applicability, but…"

"What is it?" I asked.

Rowena worked at her lower lip for a few moments before shaking her head. "Later. I'm sure Helga and Salazar will also have questions and I don't want to have to explain myself twice."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You're going to get revenge, yes?" Rowena asked intently. "I will be helping. I'm sure Helga and Salazar will agree as well."

"I… alright," I said. "I don't quite get how this connects to your heirloom, but alright."

"You will," she said. "Though I am not certain it would be the best implement. I would need to perform some tests. I think I still have some captive rats."

"She also said the sidhe that safeguarded the heirloom could perform that procedure," I said, not wanting to get into the details of her psychomantic mad science processes and ethics. "I'll probably pass, since the Archive said going to her would be a disaster, but I'm curious as to who this person is."

"Hmm? Oh, her." She took a deep breath. "Yes, considering your personal… involvements, going to her might be problematic."

"Who is she?" I asked.

"When I first met her, as a young girl, she introduced herself as Aurora," she said.

Oh.

"Recently, she's become known as Titania," she continued.

_Oh_.

"Oh," I said. "Yeah, I can see the problem."

Rowena nodded. "We are… not close, really. But we're acquainted. She taught me how to read Morgana's journals and ensured I didn't accidentally destroy myself early on, but she had no further obligation beyond that, I never sought any more assistance, and we don't really have anything to talk about. I've seen her… four times in the decades since, I think, and never for long."

"Huh," I said. "And- wait, recently? How recently?"

"Five years ago now, I think?" she said. "Or maybe four? Four to six, I'm not certain."

I leaned back in my own seat. "Huh."

Four to six years. I hadn't known much about the Faerie Courts back in my time, and even after Mab had forcibly dragged me into things, I hadn't learned too much more. What I did know about Mab and Titania was that they were twins, and had become the Queens more or less at the same time. Which meant that Mab herself was probably new to her job, like Titania.

Except she'd been Aurora beforehand, which I'd thought was just a name. That confused me, but also wasn't important right now.

What was important was that if I applied the same idea to Mab, then things made a little more sense. She hadn't been the Winter Queen for centuries and centuries; she was still relatively fresh off the Winter Lady.

Off being _Maeve_ if the names meant anything.

"Oh fuck," I said.

"What?" Rowena asked.

"Nothing, just realized how screwed I am." I groaned and shook my head. "Okay. Back on track. The Archive said I only had a month or two before my daughter tore my head open and killed me in the process, so we're on a bit of a tight schedule."

"Your daughter?"

"The spirit," I explained. "The Archive figured she was probably going to be… well, a she."

"I see," Rowena said in a tone that suggested she really didn't. "A month or two." She took a deep breath. "I believe I can manage that."

"Good. Then I'll work on the container for her," I said.

"What do you need a container for?" she asked.

"She'll be a spirit. Wiped away by sunrise and all that. She'll need someplace to live that's safe from that," I explained.

"Ah. I've never dealt with spirits before," she said. She took a deep breath, and then looked down at her wand. "How soon will you be going after the vampire?"

I scratched my chin. It was a week before Samhain, and I'd promised Elfleda I'd do something special for our birthdays. I didn't expect that to be much of a problem, but I still wanted to see it through. Then there was the fact that I didn't know where Gauthier lived or would be, that I had to deal with his sorceress – if Esther was telling the truth about Sofia – get Cuthbert back to his family, learn more about what Guy could do, work out how I'd get to Gauthier once I knew where to go, plan, prepare, revise…

"Can you contact Helga and Salazar, tell them what happened?" I asked.

"I can," she said.

"Then let's say… the day after Samhain," I said. "I'm going to lose a few days bringing Cuthbert back, and then there are a few things I have to see to. Not to mention the question of how I'm going to be getting to France to punch Gauthier in the face. Metaphorically. Maybe also literally."

"Mmm. Actually, how did you get here? I wasn't... paying much attention, but I didn't spot your horse out front," she asked.

"Oh, I flew in on Guy," I said, gesturing at my phoenix.

Rowena turned to look at Guy. "You flew… on that? What is that?" she asked.

"A phoenix, apparently," I said.

Rowena turned to give me an incredulous look, and then sighed and shook her head. "I won't ask. Helga will do enough questioning for all of us."

"I imagine she will," I said. "A week and a day from now, at my place. We'll put together what we've learned and hash out a plan then."

Rowena nodded. "Very well."

"Stay safe," I said, tentatively reaching out a hand. She didn't move, and I patted her with my gloved hand.

"I don't plan to leave my tower at all until that day," she said. "And the wards aren't coming down either."

I nodded slowly and pulled back. Then I paused, and looked down at my glove. "You know, I wonder," I muttered, then pulled off my glove.

And stared.

The skin wasn't completely healed. There were still residual burn-scars covering almost every inch of skin. But it looked mild now, no longer gnarly and ugly. Still not great, but a lot better.

I looked up at Rowena. "Do I still have a scar over my eye?" I asked.

Rowena leaned forward and squinted. "You do, but it's slimmer and lighter. Like a cat scratched you."

"You used to have a cat?" I asked. I didn't need to ask how she knew what a cat scratch looked like; as a former cat owner myself, the answer was obvious.

"Decades ago, when I still looked my age," Rowena said. "One of the worst decisions I ever made, it took me a decade to be rid of him."

"You kept a cat you didn't like around for a decade?" I asked.

"He took care of the rats, before I acquired the aid of the… well, you know. And I suppose his fur was soft. But he was utterly unbearable otherwise," she said. "I've had no other pets since." She looked over at Guy, or Cuthbert. I couldn't tell which. "Perhaps I should start keeping a dog now. A large hound."

I followed her gaze sadly. "Might be handy," I admitted.

* * *

Author's Note: Harry's assumption here that the Archive only works on the written word is explicitly wrong, by the way. Just want to make that clear.


	75. Chapter 6-III

**October 1070**

I asked Rowena for a piece of parchment to write on and penned a quick letter for Eva and Elfleda. Once I was done, I thanked Rowena and led Cuthbert out of the tower. Seconds after she closed the door, I felt the wards come back up and the tower started thrumming with energy once again.

"Guy, how good are you at carrying messages?" I asked. "I mean obviously you can fly, and I assume you can hold a piece of parchment without damaging it, but can you… target-locate like an owl?"

Guy looked at me for a few moments as if considering how to respond, then shook his head. It looked a little silly on a phoenix, but I got the message.

"Okay. Can you intercept or follow an owl, though? Communicate with it and get it to turn back around?" I asked.

Guy crooned in the affirmative.

"Then here's what we'll do," I said, handing him the rolled-up parchment which he took in one talon. "I'm going to call an owl. You're going to fly off, intercept it, do whatever it is you need to do to get it to turn around and go back, and deliver the message. Then you're going to stick around and protect Eva – " I noticed that got a slight reaction out of Cuthbert " – my apprentice, the one who the owl belongs to, until I get back. Can you manage that?"

Guy crooned again.

"Alright." I called Elric's name a few times to make sure the owl got the point, and when I was done Guy trilled and launched off my shoulder, shooting off to the south-east – at a faster pace than he'd flown in on, I noticed.

Once we were alone outside Rowena's tower, I turned to look at Cuthbert. He was still studiously avoiding looking at me, or anything else.

"Is the guard that went with you to Berkhamsted still alive?" I asked.

Cuthbert was silent for a few moments, and then slowly shook his head. "Figured," I sighed. "Did the vampire come with you on her own horse, or did she ride with you? There's no way we're both going to fit on one horse."

Cuthbert nodded, and went to unhook his own horse. I didn't get quite what his nod meant until he led me to the south, past the small grove of trees and to the other side, where a smaller yet very well-groomed horse was nervously grazing. A mare, by my guess.

"Oh, this is going to be a pain," I muttered. At least it had saddlebags.

Getting the mare calm enough to accept me as a new rider was a trial almost worthy of Hercules, and even once I did manage that the saddle chafed, feeling a bit too small for me. At least the saddlebags were packed with road supplies, along with a light sword that looked like a cavalry saber. Well, the sword wasn't in the saddlebags themselves, but you get the point.

In any case about an hour later we set off, following a trail I hadn't used in over a year but still remembered fairly well. I set a faster pace than I usually would have, keenly aware that time was definitely at a premium and that now wasn't the time to worry about a horse's health or energy.

Our trip took two days in all, though it was more a half day, then a full day, and then another half day to reach Dorham. I tried to engage Cuthbert in conversation, but throughout the first two days he just refused to speak. It was only on the third day, or the second half day, however you want to look at it, that he started responding.

We were a few hours out from Dorham, riding through a stretch of lightly forested, gently sloped hills when Cuthbert, in a quiet tone, said, "I met her a week ago."

I turned my head and looked at him. I'd been gently poking him with questions about Esther, trying to figure out how much of the story she sold me was true and how much was bullshit and how everything fit into this now-active feud with Gauthier. How much influence Esther had had over Cuthbert was something I really needed to know.

"On the way to Dorham?" I guessed.

Cuthbert nodded. "She was standing on the side of the road, alone, with torn and dirty clothes. Claimed wolves had savaged her horse and forced her to run. We stopped to help her and then…"

Cuthbert fell silent, and I didn't push him. It took a few minutes for him to continue.

"She didn't kill Edric. She bewitched both of us. I don't remember much, but I remember killing him and being… being happy about it, that I'd _pleased_–"

"You don't need to say more," I said. "Did she know about Rowena to begin with, or did you tell her? I'm not blaming you if you did."

Another period of silence, and then, "I think I told her. I can't remember. I think I told her about Eva too. She's fine, right?" There was a pleading note on those last few words.

"Last I saw her, which was… two hours before I dealt with the vampire, about. She's safe in the castle," I said.

"How can you be sure? If someone like her entered the castle–"

"If someone like her entered the castle, she'd quickly be found out and killed, trust me," I said. "Berkhamsted is pretty well defended against her kind. I just hadn't expected someone to ambush you on the road." I frowned. "And that part still confuses me. You didn't make a show of leaving for Dorham, right? You just packed and grabbed Edric and left."

"Yes. I told my sister and…"

"No one outside the castle?" I asked.

"No."

"So someone saw you on the street, probably, or maybe overheard it from inside the castle, somehow passed a message to the vampire, and she got ahead of you. Not impossible, but… improbable," I said, letting go of the reins with one hand so I could scratch my chin. "And then she just attacked and abducted you in broad daylight and went straight for Rowena."

This didn't feel like Gauthier to me, or at least not entirely. Ambushing Cuthbert? I could see that. Enthralling him to use against me? I could also see that. But going after Rowena instead, rather than trying to kill me and then taking his kids back, with the added benefit of Eva? That felt more impulsive, probably Esther's idea. Not that I was going to cut Gauthier any slack. Whether he gave the order or not, he still sent an agent here. Whether she went rogue or not was irrelevant. Still, things didn't feel right.

And the attack itself was just so damn bold. Esther didn't seem like a novice; in fact, excluding the frankly unpredictable stroke of luck that was the Archive showing up with Guy in tow, her plan would've worked. Which I guess was one point in her favor, but the fact that the attack was so direct, so blunt, just felt off for someone of the White Court. Gauthier sending a patsy made sense, but Esther going straight for the throat felt off.

Maybe some of my assumptions regarding the White Court were off. There was about a thousand-year gap between the White Court of my time and the current White Court; maybe they had changed as much as the White Council. For instance, the White Council had initially been formed as a literal advisory council to the Romans, wizards in general had been more in the open – hell, _Merlin_ had just done away with any kind of secrecy and openly attached himself to Arthur and Camelot. Except then the Inquisition and the witch burnings had happened, and the White Council closed themselves off.

Was the White Court tendency to work through as many patsies and cutouts as possible a similar kind of change? A kind of "once burned, twice shy" habit that got turned into a cultural more and tradition? Maybe. And if I was right, then I'd misread the White Court, assumed they'd be more hesitant and distant when really, they weren't.

And even if that wasn't a general White Court thing, then it might be a quirk of Gauthier and his immediate family. The man had decided to become Constable of France, one of the most powerful and more importantly _public_ positions one could attain. I couldn't imagine someone like Lara ever getting that bold.

If that was the case, and the White Court or at least Gauthier were willing to be a lot more direct and violent than I anticipated, then I needed to rethink my strategy. 

* * *

Our arrival at Dorham and Eadric's manor caused quite a stir. For one we arrived from the opposite direction one would expect, for another I came in on a horse that wasn't mine, and for a third Cuthbert was unusually subdued.

We were quickly separated, and Cuthbert bundled off by a worried Hilda, leaving me alone in a room with an agitated, bulky Eadric.

"What happened?" he asked.

"The short version is that he was on his way to see you when he got ambushed and abducted," I said. "The long story involves the trip to France."

"How so?" Eadric asked.

I sighed and looked around the courtyard. "I think we should go inside and have this talk somewhere more private."

Eadric eadriced at me for a few seconds, then grunted and went inside, bidding me to follow. He led me to the small dining room again and took a seat. I did the same, settled my staff against the table, and stretched my arms.

"This goes all the way back to Tim," I said.

"The vampire," Eadric said darkly.

"Yeah. As you know, he has a sister. For a good while we had an arrangement where they didn't bother me or do anything objectionable, and I left them alone. I wasn't looking forward to dealing with the hassle of getting Robert to ditch his mistress," I said. "And fairly early on I got a very good sense of Lucille's character, and determined that what she really needed was help. I'm not going to get into that argument with you right now.

"The point is that as a result of the event that made her a vampire, she loathes her father. And I mean _loathes_. However much you may hate the Normans, trust me, she hates her father more. She was utterly terrified her father might call her back and force her to do what he wanted, and before you get into any kind of response involving the rights of the father, the vampire method of doing that usually involves repeated rape."

Eadric made an eadricy face.

"Yeah. So I agreed to help her, so long as she and her brother abided by my rules, which they have, diligently. Which brings me to her father. Gauthier Renouth, the Constable of France."

"Constable?" Eadric asked.

"The guy in charge of the armies of France in the King's stead," I said.

Eadric eadriced. "And you met with him?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you kill him?" he asked.

"Because I didn't want to start a shadow war across Europe between vampires and wizards that would leave hundreds dead at a conservative estimate, probably closer to thousands," I said. "At the time, at least.

"What I did do was threaten him and tell him to leave his children alone. I didn't exactly expect that to be the end of it, but I did expect Gauthier to try and keep any feud centered on me like a sensible person. Which he hasn't, at all."

Eadric grunted darkly. "What happens now?"

"I go and put my boot up his shiny white ass," I said.

Eadric stared at me eadricly for a long while, then slowly nodded his head. "What about my son?"

I sighed. "That's a tougher question. I am not a healer by any metric. The best I can recommend is to give him time and love. To listen to him and help him. The vampire that abducted him is dead now, but before she died, she unnaturally inflamed his lust and used it to make him do terrible things. He is not going to get over that easily. But so long as he stays here, he'll be safe. I took precautions, and I'll step them up before I leave.

"And Eva?"

"I made Berkhamsted into a veritable fortress against vampires, and if there's one thing I can be sure of, it's that Lucille definitely does not want anything to do with her father. If Gauthier tries _anything_, it'll have to be with an army," I said. "It's the safest place for her to be right now."

Eadric took a deep breath and looked away, his hands clenched. I understood the feeling. He really, truly wanted to do something, but he didn't see how. And unlike me, he didn't have people lining up to offer him temptation.

"I give you my word Eadric," I said. "Gauthier is _going_ to regret not accepting peace when I offered it."


	76. Chapter 6-IV

**October 1070**

I left for Berkhamsted after that, moving at a clip and with my eyes peeled. No one and nothing intercepted me, and I ended up making it to Berkhamsted in the early evening without incident. I stopped by the horse trader to offload the mare - I didn't bother to haggle too much, which certainly made him suspicious but not enough to pass up the mare - and then quickly popped by my house to check in on Shadowfax. He tried to bite my hand off, even after I went inside to get him an apple. Once I made sure everything was fine on the home front, I went off to Berkhamsted Castle.

Usually, I just wandered around the halls looking for whoever I wanted to meet with. This time, I skipped ahead by asking the guards if anything had happened recently, and after roughly confirming that the answer was "no" asked them to lead me to Elfleda. She turned out to be part of a small dinner party Robert was hosting, along with Tim and Lucille. It took a bit of finagling to get them out while sending Elfleda to corral Eva, but eventually we all ended up in the castle library, with everyone giving me strange looks as Guy moved from hovering over Eva to sitting on my shoulder. I noticed there was a rather significant physical divide, with Eva on the other side of Elfleda and both as far from the Renouths as they could manage.

Eva started things off. "Is my brother alright?" she asked.

I sighed. "That's a tough question to answer. Physically, he's fine. Mentally, technically, also fine. Emotionally, psychologically..." I shrugged.

"He was enthralled?" Lucille asked.

"Rather quickly and bluntly from what I saw," I said.

"What... what does that mean?" Eva asked, half to me, half to Lucille.

I was curious about that too, actually, so I looked over at Lucille. "I've only ever seen the end result," I said.

Lucille looked from me to Eva and back, gave me a slightly put-upon look, and sighed. "I never truly worked at it, as I never had the need to, but the basic idea is to feed and consume potions of another's will and lifeforce, then... reach inside the gap with the Hunger and put lust and desire back in its place. The process is not permanent, but I don't know how one recovers from it."

I nodded, then turned back to Eva. "It will take time, but he will recover. We can talk more about this later, alright?"

Eva pursed her lips and glanced fearfully between me and Lucille, then shakily nodded.

"Okay." I turned to Tim. "What about Sofia?"

"The herbalist was gone by the time Elfleda here," he nodded in her direction, "delivered word and instructions to me. I asked around, and she was seen leaving an hour or two after you did, riding south with packed bags."

"That's either an incredibly untimely coincidence or a sense of danger like a rabbit's," I said. "I'm inclined to go with the latter. Now, I recognize this is a stupid question, but neither of you have ever seen or heard of any Sofia before, right?"

Tim and Lucille both nodded. "We parted ways years ago," Tim added. "And he spent a number of years teaching us. I assume this herbalist is new."

"Safe assumption, though probably not that new," I said. "Whatever ward-charms she can put together hold up briefly against me, but they were probably part of why your father felt confident facing me. The wards didn't need to hold up for long when you have the speed of a vampire backed up by a sword like _Joyeuse_. And Esther?"

"I never met a cousin or aunt by that name," Tim said, looking over at his sister, who shook her head.

"She certainly looked like Blandine's daughter," I said. I then described how Esther looked, to see if she'd showed up under an assumed name, but everyone shook their heads when I asked if they'd ever seen her.

Except Elfleda, who said, "Once, in France."

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "Great. How much interaction did you have with your aunt?" I asked the twins.

"She visited sometimes," Tim said. "Once or twice a year, always alone - well, except for her entourage. She was nice, in my opinion."

"She was as much of a bitch as father, just better at hiding it," Lucille muttered. "You think he did this?"

"I think the few facts point at him," I said. "And I'm certainly going to work under that assumption. I guess one of his rivals could have set this up, but I don't believe he's uninvolved. I just don't get how this happened, if there's anything I could have done to preempt it."

"What do you mean?" Elfleda asked.

"I just don't particularly buy that this is coincidence," I said. "A vampire just happened to be waiting on the road ahead of Cuthbert, or had somehow gotten ahead of him, with minimal notice?" I sighed and looked at Eva. "Okay. Who here knew Cuthbert was leaving?"

"You think someone here... did something?" she asked hesitantly.

"I don't know. That's the problem," I said.

Eva pursed her lips. "Well, there was me, and Elfleda, and... I think that's it. I don't even think told Marianne."

"Who?" I asked.

"The lady he's interested in," Eva said.

"Robert would have had to give permission for him to leave," Tim added. "But that's a dead end."

"Unless he told someone," I said, glancing at Lucille.

She rolled her eyes. "Even if he had told me, or anyone for that matter, which he didn't, I wouldn't have cared to spread it, and certainly not to an agent of my father's; I am _well_ aware of how vengeful you can be, wizard. Believe me, as much as I want my father dead, I wouldn't have been party to a plan like this." She shook her head. "In any case the permission was a minor matter of protocol at best, probably asked the day before. The only possible way it could have come from Robert was if a servant was in the room, and even then the information is so irrelevant it would have to be a spy specifically looking for information about people close to you. And it is highly unlikely that any servants in the castle are spies."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because until you came they were all mine," she said bluntly. "And I've always kept a very close eye on who was in Robert's court and employ."

"Couldn't your father have gotten to some in France?" I asked.

Lucille thinned her lips in displeasure. "Perhaps. But it has been months now. Any influence except the heaviest would have long since faded, and the heaviest would have been immediately apparent. Which means the only way the influence could have been maintained was if there was another vampire nearby. So unless your wards aren't as effective against vampires as you think they are..."

"They are," I said. "I tested fairly extensively with you."

"And they didn't tell anyone," Lucille gestured at Eva and Elfleda, "then this was an unfortunate coincidence."

I looked over at Eva and Elfleda. My apprentice fervently shook her head, while Elfleda said, "No, I didn't tell anyone."

I sighed. "Great. Just great." I ran a hand down the side of my face. "Okay. Fine. I'll work under the assumption of bad luck for now. Not like it changes much regarding what I'm going to do with Gauthier."

"You're going to kill him?" Lucille asked. There was a disturbing yet entirely understandable amount of relish in her tone as she asked that.

"Well... yeah, probably," I said. "He crossed a number of lines."

"Good," she purred.

Elfleda shot Lucille a very fascinated look.

"You will include me, I hope," Lucille added.

"I... will certainly consider it," I said. "But a lot of things regarding how I'm going to deal with your father are up in the air right now. Speaking of which, I need to know where your family estates are, and anywhere else your father might spend time, preferably pointed out to me on a map."

"I'm nearly certain that the earl has a map of France somewhere," Tim said, looking over at Lucille.

"I will see," Lucille said. She then turned to face Eva. "I am sorry about your brother, for what it's worth."

Eva didn't meet her eyes, and she was silent for a few moments before she quietly and hesitantly said, "Thank you."

* * *

The meeting broke apart after that, understandably. Neither Eva nor Elfleda wanted to talk much around the Renouths, and the twins were busy with their own issues and worries. I arranged a meeting with Tim tomorrow evening regarding the maps and family estates, and then spent the rest of the evening and into the night answering Eva's questions, addressing her concerns, and generally soothing her. She seemed briefly fascinated at the mention of what Guy was, but that quickly faded under the worry she had for her brother.

Neither she nor Elfleda came by the next morning for lessons, which didn't surprise me, or for the next few days, which also didn't surprise me. As a result there isn't that much to write about regarding what happened in the days leading up to Samhain. For the most part I was cooped up in my house, brewing potions or experimenting to see what Guy was capable of. It turned out to be an eclectic mix.

There's the most obvious and immediate, phoenix tears. Immediate injuries they seem to fix up completely, though I wasn't willing to test if that applied to serious, mortal injuries for obvious reasons. Older injuries like my scars were affected to a lesser degree, and repeated applications of phoenix tears didn't seem to compound. Not that Guy really cried on demand, but he was willing to indulge me to an extent. Bottled phoenix tears were a no-go though, at least without some kind of magical preservation. Though even that I'm not sure about; I'd be pretty willing to bet that they have to come directly from the source to be useful. Maybe they could be incorporated into a potion, but I didn't get around to testing that; I had no clue what I would use for the other ingredients, after all, or even what kind of potion I'd be aiming for.

Phoenixes could be called like owls, but couldn't be summoned like spiritual beings. This didn't surprise me; Mouse had been the same way. Still, nice to confirm.

He could also fireport - that is, teleport between fires. The size of the fire didn't particularly seem to matter, though distance and knowledge of where the fire was were probably limiting factors. Guy couldn't tell me how much on account of him not speaking. Or being able to hold a quill neatly enough to write.

He was literate though, so. There's that. It makes me wonder if Mouse knew how to read as well.

Then there was his song. I couldn't exactly test it, but judging from how Rowena and Cuthbert had reacted to it, it was probably a form of emotional magic that soothed and comforted. I also asked Guy if it could have negative effects against beings like vampires, and I'm pretty sure the answer was yes, though once again the physical communication barrier was an issue to figuring out more.

Frankly, I still couldn't believe I had a phoenix. Or maybe rather, that a phoenix had me. But Guy stuck around.

He did also agree to give me one of his feathers. Not that I did anything with this just yet; I needed my blasting rod intact for what was coming, and I didn't want to risk damaging or destroying my fire magic focus and having to start all over with breaking in a new one before I'd dealt with Gauthier. My guess though was that it wouldn't make the fire any stronger, but rather more controlled.

I take this from the way Guy screwed with me by bursting into flame all over my shelf full of books, and then revealed that nothing had so much as been singed. I think he then laughed at me.

That, at least, wasn't any different than my prior animal companions.

Then, Samhain came. I had a picnic date planned for that, and by God I was going to see it through.  


* * *

Author's Note: I don't have much to say here. This is, among a number of other parts I've posted, what I consider to be a "connective tissue" part - something that bridges gaps with necessary information and interactions, but that isn't necessarily the most exciting. I'm always iffy when I come up on a connective tissue part, but the nature of how I write (i.e. serially and quickly) means these tend to crop up. It's something I'm trying to work on. I'm aware not every part can be inherently exciting, but I do try to make sure every part is actually plot relevant in some way. I'll try and have the actual date part be longer. We'll see.


	77. Chapter 6-V

**October 1070**

I was busy working on carving a wooden skull when Elfleda came. That had been the other major project to occupy my attention over the past few days, and it was coming along well. My inspiration, and frankly only reference, for the home I was making for my daughter was Bob's skull.

But, it was a pretty damn good reference. The one time I went inside, it looked... palatial. It was a metaphorical translation, but even by the living standards of my own time, it was impressive. And over the two-and-a-bit decades I had Bob, I had a lot of time to examine his skull and the various bindings that went into it. I didn't want to recreate it in its entirety - like the personality-mirroring and loyalty bindings - but it was a good reference.

And there was a degree of nostalgia in there too. For all that he'd been a smartassed spirit, he was also my oldest friend.

I'd also done some thinking about names. I felt woefully unprepared on that aspect, but I also knew that there was no one else that could name her. Right now, I'd settled on Bonea. Maybe I would change my mind later.

I was doing some detail work and touch-ups, busying my hands to steady my nerves. I'd done all the preparations earlier in the day so that when the time came - about three hours past noon - I could just grab everything and go.

Everything, in this case, included a few furs I'd sewn together into a large rug-slash-covering weeks ago, an honest-to-god picnic basket, a few smokebombs - more recent creations, admittedly - my entire typical panoply of coat, staff, blasting rod, the force rings, and all the doodads in my pockets. And, lastly, _Amoracchius_.

It was as much of a last minute decision as the smoke bombs. Honestly, I still felt nervous about actually using it. But considering vampires and their minions were about, I figured it couldn't hurt to bring it, especially considering the context.

"Alright Guy, I'm leaving the house to you," I said as I strapped _Amoracchius _to my waist. "Don't burn anything down."

Guy trilled a bit and went back to his messy herbivorous ways. He wasn't quite as voracious as Mouse had been, but I could see the phoenix steadily biting into my finances in food-related ways as time went on.

When I brought down the wards and stepped outside, I saw that Elfleda had also decided to be cautious. Rather than wear something technically nicer, she'd put on the dress and cloak I'd enchanted for protective purposes, along with her recently updated sapphire necklace. I'd modified the shield to be more comprehensive, and had managed to get it to include one other person in the bubble, if Elfleda was holding onto them tightly with her other hand when she brought up the barrier. All in all, she could probably survive a few wizards throwing down in the vicinity, at least for a few minutes.

Upon seeing me, Elfleda arched an eyebrow and glanced down at Amoracchius, and then immediately winced and looked away, blinking her eyes a few times. "That's... different," she said. "And bright."

"Yeah. Sorry," I said.

"Well... it is fine. I'll save my question for later. Expecting trouble, though?" she asked.

"I'd rather be prepared," I said. "And I see you're the same."

Elfleda nodded in agreement.

"How's Eva?" I asked.

"Nervous, still," Elfleda said. "She's with John now, and likely will be until I come back."

I grimaced. Nothing about this situation was ideal, but I couldn't blame her either. She was fifteen, and up until recently her life had been fairly idyllic. Now real life had intruded.

Another issue I had with Gauthier.

"Well," I said with half-forced cheer. "Come on." I closed the door and brought the wards back up, and led Elfleda around to the stable addition. I saddled Shadowfax, who snorted in annoyance, and settled everything in place, the basket barely fitting into one of the larger saddlebags. Then I got up in the saddle, settled the bottom of my staff into the little stirrup-holster I'd commissioned, and offered a hand to Elfleda. She smiled, took my hand, and I pulled her up to sit in front of me.

I rode out through the south gate, and we traveled for the better part of an hour. On my myriad trips to and from London, mostly from, I did a little bit of exploring of the territory around Berkhamsted, looking for anywhere nice and picturesque. About a month and a half ago I'd found a nice, lone hillock about five minutes off the Berkhamsted-London road with a killer view, and it was this place I was heading to.

We did talk on the way there, though not about anything nice.

"What are your plans regarding Gauthier?" Elfleda asked, a few minutes out of town. "He is in France, and may be protected by an army."

"Those are problems," I agreed. "It depends on what the others find out and what we settle on."

"Others?"

"My friends. You met them," I said. "The vampire, Esther, attacked Rowena. This isn't about just me and him anymore."

"Is she alright?" she asked with concern.

"Mostly," I said. "A lot better than Cuthbert. Doesn't make it any better." I sighed. "The main issue I can see is getting to Gauthier, not so much dealing with him once we get there. Figuring out where he'll be, how we'll get there. The others could use the Ways, but in my case, I'd probably have to fly."

Elfleda looked over her shoulder at me with a befuddled expression. "Fly? How?"

"Guy, the phoenix," I said. "He can carry me."

Elfleda's expression grew even more confused. "How?"

"With his tail."

She thought about that for a few seconds, then asked, "_How?_"

I shrugged. "Magic, I guess."

She sighed in frustration. "Of course."

I nodded. "Just the way things work out sometimes." I frowned slightly. "You know, I forgot to ask earlier. How did Eva and you and the rest take his arrival?"

"With confusion," she said. "Eva retreated into her room after your letter came. The phoenix... Guy... stayed with her. He was very protective of her. As she did not come out of her room much, neither did he."

I grunted. "Good guy."

Elfleda narrowed her eyes at me. I smirked back.

"Your obsession with wordplay is often irritating," she sighed, turning back to face the road.

"I get that a lot," I said. "Hey, while we're talking about unpleasant business, can I bounce some thoughts off of you?"

"Bounce...? I suppose," she said.

"I'm still trying to figure out how Cuthbert got attacked. It being a complete coincidence still strikes me as unlikely," I said.

"Who else could be responsible?" she asked.

"That's the question. The Winter Queen, maybe."

Elfleda glanced over her shoulder at me. "Why do you think that?"

"Well, I figure the odds that she doesn't have eyes on Berkhamsted are below zero," I said. "So it's possible she leaked information or nudged events somehow."

"Many things are possible. Why would she be motivated to do that?" she asked.

"She puts me in a tight spot where I might have to come to her for help," I said. "A few words here and there and she engineers this situation where I'm looking to get revenge on Gauthier and stuck on the how."

"Perhaps," she said. "And perhaps not. How did you come to rescue Cuthbert? As your letter arrived the same day you left, and your horse was still in his stable, you must have left quickly."

"Yeah. I flew," I said. "She could have predicted that though."

"How?" she asked.

"I don't know how, she's the Queen of Air and Darkness. Emphasis on the _Air_," I said.

"Why are you intent on her being responsible?" she asked.

"Because she's been way too quiet these past months."

"And?"

I sighed. "And I want there to be some kind of logical explanation for what happened to Cuthbert."

We fell into an uncomfortable silence after that, and it wasn't until I took us off the main road that we started chatting again.

"May I ask about your sword?" she asked.

"Is that a euphemism?" I knew what she was asking, of course, but I wanted to be silly to move away from the prior topic.

She shot me an exasperated look over her shoulder. "The one on your hip, that's blinding to look at it and seems like it is made of love distilled and condensed into a solid form."

"Oh, that one," I said with exaggerated realization. "I have no clue how that was made, I had no part in it. As best I can figure, the explanation is 'God did it.'"

Elfleda frowned curiously. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Well... after Jesus was crucified, someone got a hold of the Nails of the Cross," I said. "And they were forged into a trio of swords. This is one of them."

She stared at me for a few seconds, then said, "That is one of the least informative explanations I have ever heard."

"Hey, it's not like I know any more," I said. "And I'm not sure there is anything more to it. The Nails of the Cross are POWER with all capital letters, holy relics of ridiculous significance. However you used them, you'd get something incredible at the end. In this case, super holy swords."

"And you have one," she remarked.

"Eh..." I waggled my head a bit. "Sure, let's go with that."

"Why the hesitation?"

"Well, I wouldn't say it's really mine," I said. "In the sense that I don't have any real intention of wielding it in the long-term."

"Why not?"

"I'm not really interested in the job that comes with it," I said. "Requires a lot more forgiveness and tolerance than I'd be willing to show."

"Why do you have it, then?"

"I don't know. It just showed up in my bedroom after I came back from York. I assume it's just some angelic joke. But since I can't just stick it in a stone and call it a day, I guess I'm looking after it." I paused, wondering if I should share this next bit, and figured it would be safe enough to tell her. "Not like it's the first time I've done it either."

Elfleda's expression turned very strange and confused.

"But don't tell John any of this, alright?" I asked. "If he hears any part of this conversation I am never going to hear the end of it from him."

"...as you wish."

We reached the spot a minute later. The hillock overlooked a small pond in a clearing amidst a grove of trees. The sun was starting to get low when we arrived, though twilight itself was still hours off, and the fading sunlight reflected beautifully off the water without being blinding. I spent a few minutes looking for a nice, flat stretch of hill to set up on, and then started unpacking Shadowfax. Elfleda helped me, and fairly quickly we had everything laid out on the sewn-together rug while Shadowfax went off to graze.

"It's a beautiful place," Elfleda said, lounging on the rug as walked in a wide circle, dragging my staff along the ground as I called up power. "But isn't it exposed?"

"Yes, but I'm not too worried about that," I said. "It being exposed works two ways; it means there's no cover for anyone to sneak up on us. There are the woods over there," I gestured to the southwest, "but they're far off and not really in comfortable bow range. Both of us are wearing clothes that you'd need a ballista to get through and I can throw up a shield in an instant that you'd need a dozen ballista to break. Shadowfax is nearby and I can cover him easily, and if something bad happens to him, I brewed and packed two escape potions earlier. And if for some reason those aren't an option, then rescue is only about five minutes away."

"Rescue?"

"Guy," I said. "I left a window open for him to fly out of if necessary. He can fly pretty darn fast and he can carry both of us. Pretty sure, at least."

"Pretty sure," she noted.

"Yeah. It's not perfect. Nothing is. But I spent a while putting this together, and while I would've canceled if Guy wasn't around, with him I feel fairly safe," I said.

"Why didn't you bring him, in that case?"

"Because this is a date, not a date with a bird as a third wheel," I said. I finished walking the circle, then willed it into existence. I finally let go of the energy I'd been collecting and wove a number of wards just inside to protect against basically everything. Not as diligent a setup as I used when bedding down while traveling, but it would give me warning if an ambush happened.

Once I finished I went to sit next to Elfleda, who had idly sorted the various foodstuffs I had brought along and was currently inspecting a sandwich with a bemused look.

"What is this?" she asked.

"A sandwich," I said. I explained the basic idea to her, and after a little more staring, she took a careful bite. Then she chewed, nodded, and took another bite. Then another.

"Glad you like it," I said.

"Mmm. What else did you plan?" she asked.

"In broad strokes, to sit and talk and watch the sunset," I said. "I mean you've had a bunch of questions for me since forever, and I've got some for you too."

"I see," she said, unstoppering one of the two bottles of wine I brought along and pouring some into her cup. "Shall I start then?"

"Sure," I said, taking the bottle from her once she was done.

She swirled her cup around for a bit and hummed, then took a long, slow sip. Once she was done she asked, "I believe I shall start with your scars. The ones on your face have gotten substantially lighter, and I notice you no longer wear a glove."

"Yeah," I said, flexing my left hand. It still wasn't pretty to look at, but I'd regained either complete or near-complete functionality - dexterity, sense of touch, so on. "You can thank Guy for that. His tears fixed me up. Not all the way, but close enough."

"I see. I am not sure how to feel about the glove, as I feel it added to your air of strangeness and mystery. But I am faintly disappointed at the fading of the scar over your eye. It made you look dangerous, and now it looks less impressive," she said. "How did you get it, it and the other scars you have?"

I took a deep breath, downed my cup of wine in one go, and sighed. I didn't like thinking about the skinwalker.

"It was a shapeshifting demon," I said. "I really don't feel like elaborating on it, not when I still have nightmares about it." Not when the memory of seeing it with my Sight would never go away. I had years of distance now, but in some way it would remain fresh no matter how many years I put between me and the incident.

"My apologies," she said, dipping her head. "Do all your scars come with such sordid tales?"

"Well, some," I said. I held my left hand out and let her see the burn scars. "This came from a witch. It was fairly early on in my career, when I hadn't refined my shield and it predominantly blocked physical attacks. She figured that out and just blasted right through it with fire, almost took my hand off." Granted, my shield probably would have blocked magical fire, since I hadn't been a complete idiot. I just didn't expect the centuries old walking corpse to use _flamethrowers_. Generally, the older monsters and beings had a poor grasp of me-modern technology and weaponry.

"And are those your only scars?" she asked.

"What, you want to see my chest that badly?"

Elfleda smirked. "If you're offering..."

I snorted, checked my wards, then shucked off my duster. Then, more slowly, I pulled off my tunic. The coldness of the air hit me all at once as the temperature-enchantments stopped protecting me and I shivered, crossing my arms together. Over the next however many minutes, it felt like at least an hour, I steadily went over every faded scar and graze and tried to attach them to a time I'd been hurt and explain the circumstances behind them. But outside of the major scars, like the abdominal wound Snakeboy had almost eviscerated me with, that was actually pretty difficult; there were a lot of encounters and a lot of wounds to keep track of, an unknown number of which had faded completely over the years. And my chest had never had that many scars anyway; I tended to get hurt in the arms and legs.

At one point, Elfleda traced a finger over the small, barely present, circular scar over my left breast, and a similar a wound in a similar place on my back. "And this?" she asked.

"Bullet," I said, letting her assume it came from a sling.

"It pierced the skin and went out the other side... and then didn't kill you?" she asked.

"Came damn close," I said. Actually, it might _have_ killed me; however my body had been restored, my soul had departed and gone on a run-around. I'm pretty sure that didn't happen if the body hadn't technically died.

Eventually I ran out of scars on the upper half of my body and since I refused to take off my pants, that was the end of that line of questioning.

"Back in London, you asked me what I felt about you becoming sidhe," I asked, putting my shirt back on. "What made you consider making that choice?"

"You repeatedly expressed uncertainty about remaining with me as a changeling, a mortal," she said. "And as I like you, and wish to continue this relationship, I thought of a possible solution."

"I mean, I don't see how becoming a winter sidhe is an actual solution," I said. "There's no guarantee you'd remain yourself, or that you'd be free or able to be with me."

"You think I would not be able to care for you were I sidhe? To cherish you?" she asked.

I let out a long sigh. "I think you would still be able to care and cherish, even as a Winter sidhe. I just think that your definition of care and cherish and my definition would radically diverge at some point. Maybe right after you made the choice, maybe with time."

"Everything changes with time. Is that a reason to sacrifice the present?" she asked.

"No, but the Choice is not something you can just take back or change your mind about," I said. "I just don't think it's necessary, and I don't really see why you thought of it."

"...call it a difference of opinion, of perspective," she finally said.

"Sure."

She finished off her wine and stared off into the sunset for a while. I shifted position, stretched my legs, and grabbed a sandwich. I was most of the way done with it when she turned back to me and asked, "Where do you think you will create your school? Near Berkhamsted?"

"Uhm..." I drew the sound out. "I don't know. We're still figuring that out. But I don't think so. Not that close, at least."

"And you would move to the location of this new school, yes?"

"I'd have to," I said. "Why, is that a problem?"

"No, I'm merely planning for the future," she said. "Untangling myself from the earl should not be difficult. After that, though... do you think I would have a role in your school?"

"Like, as a teacher?" I asked, looking over at her. "I can't really see you as a teacher. Not because I think you'd do a bad job, but... I mean, you can't teach magic, so you'd end up teaching literacy or history or something like that and I just don't think you have the patience or interest to subjects like that to a crowd of people."

"A fair assessment," she said. "But you will need representatives and negotiators, no? Someone to argue for the school, as I did in your place with Odo."

"That, I could see," I said. "I'd need to ask the others, but I can't imagine they'd really complain." I paused. "Well, maybe Salazar. He doesn't really like me and the feeling's mutual."

We talked about Salazar and Helga and Rowena for some time, though I refrained from mentioning any of their secrets, like the basilisk and Rowena's heritage. Not that I was short of material; for all that the bulk of our many meetings had been practical and magic-oriented, we'd also chatted and joked and interacted.

I did make a mistake when I mentioned Rowena's alliteration kick though. Elfleda got into it and it just... well. It's not that annoying, all things considered, but my name is my name; I don't want to change it. Eventually though, after a long stretch of ribbing and going through all the wine, she finally took mercy on me.

Twilight was starting by this point and we'd gone through all the food and drink, so after moving things aside we lay down next to each other and watched the sun reflect off the pond for a little while. We were stretched out on the rug, propped up by our elbows, when Elfleda turned to me and asked, "Do you think we have a future?"

"Hmm?"

"If you vanquish Gauthier, if your school succeeds, and if the Winter Queen never comes for you, do you think we have a future?"

"That's a lot of ifs," I said. "And at the same time too few ifs. But, if... I think so."

She smiled faintly and leaned in to kiss me. That progressed into a make-out session, but we didn't go past first base. After a few minutes of this, I reluctantly and carefully pulled back.

"Normally I'd be completely down for this, but it's getting late," I said. "I think we should head back soon. I don't want to risk traveling through the late evening or the night."

Elfleda half-hummed, half-groaned in frustration. "This vampire business is truly irritating." She pushed herself up with a sigh, and started smoothing out her dress.

Predictably, that was when something sparked against the wards.

* * *

Author's Note: This was a very, very tough part to put out. Part of me feels like it's still too short, and that maybe some of the topics that were discussed in the London date should have been discussed here. But c'est la vie.

Now buckle in boys and girls because from here on out it's a wild ride.


	78. Chapter 6-VI

**October 1070**

"Ugh, sometimes I hate being right," I muttered as I leapt to my feet.

The "something" in question turned out to be a trio of crossbow bolts lying broken on the ground. I looked up from the broken bolts to the small copse to the southwest, and noted there were three figures at the edge of the woods frantically reloading while an indeterminate number of extras milled around further inside.

"Really?" I asked. "Really."

"Harry!"

I whirled at Elfleda's cry, saw she was pointing at something behind me, and whirled further - and almost had a heart attack. Four black cats with giant blue eyes and hands that were an unnatural mix of human and feline were charging across the field at Shadowfax, but the part that really got me was that they looked to have the speed and build of malks.

"Nononono," I muttered as I frantically tried to both dig out my blasting rod and bring the wards down at the same time. I managed to lower the anti-magic wards just as the malks were closing in on Shadowfax and I desperately thrust forth my blasting rod with a yell of, "_Fuego!_"

A bar of fire shot out towards the malks and I moved my rod in a fairly wide arc in order to catch all of them. The malks yowled and screeched in pain as the fire consumed them, and then kept yowling, which seemed very strange to me at the moment. Malks were Winter fae; that amount of fire should've killed them outright.

I whistled for Shadowfax and beckoned Elfleda closer. With problems on two different sides, I switched which hand held which foci, and I brought up my comprehensive shield in the direction of the copse as I brought the rest of the wards down. Shadowfax arrived a few seconds later, and I spared a glance for the yowling malks and the fire that was burning way longer and way brighter than it should have.

Then the fire flowed and split and faded, leaving about twelve black cats behind. Malks couldn't do that.

I had a half second to think "what the hell?" before they started charging again, this time at me. At the same time another few things happened: a volley of bolts hit my shield, I spotted a small group of men running out of the woods, about fifteen in all, and a mounted woman that seemed rather like Sofia moved up to the crossbowmen.

"Oh come on," I groaned, throwing up my physical shield to block the strange, multiplying black cats and sealing the three of us inside a two-toned bubble of force.

The black cats started clawing and biting at my shield, sending tiny sympathetic jolts up my arm as my magic processed the damage and strain on my reserves in a way I could understand. Seconds later, something invisible slammed into my comprehensive shield. It wasn't much all things considered but it was clearly something, and while I had the reserves to take my time figuring out an approach, I still needed to find one fast.

"Okay, okay, so fire doesn't work, what about force," I muttered. I angled my right hand so my fingers were pointing at the cats, then brought my shield down for a fraction of a second. In that fraction, I fired off a quick blast of force. Enough force to crack a rib hit one cat right in the face, and the only thing it accomplished was to send it flying a ways down the hillock. The cat hit the ground, started bubbling, and over the course of seconds grotesquely swelled before splitting into two new cats.

Which told me one thing: the cats multiplied upon being hit with magic.

"That's such bullshit," I said to myself.

That removed direct offense as an option. If I couldn't kill the cats with magic then I'd need to resort to _Amoracchius_, and I doubted the cats could survive getting split in half by a Sword of the Cross. But, there was another problem: the men. I spared a glance over my shoulder and found that they were getting close to the base of the hillock, and were maybe half a minute away at best. At that point they'd start hammering at my shield, and I'd be surrounded.

Now, one guy I could take. Two guys, three guys, no problem. At least fifteen guys, with a sorceress for support, and thirteen black cats? That was a bigger problem. I'd need to resort to quick and dirty methods to taking the men out, and that ran the risk of accidentally killing them. No, I had to clear away the cats, bog down the men, and then get out of there. Somehow. Escape potions were an option, but that would mean leaving Shadowfax behind; I didn't want to do that if I could at all avoid it.

"Elfleda, check the middle saddlebag on Shadowfax's right," I ordered. "There are two waterskins in there. I want you to put one skin in a pocket on the left side of my coat and one on the right, then mount up. You'll be riding."

Elfleda looked remarkably collected - and annoyed - for a medieval noblewoman in the middle of an ambush, but I guess that was the Winter talking. She nodded, went for the saddlebag, and quickly pulled out the two potions, sticking one on either side of my coat before mounting Shadowfax in one fluid motion.

"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath. I drove my staff into the ground and looked over my shoulder at the soldiers again - they were closer than I would have liked - and with my now free hand took my blasting rod and stuffed it into a pocket. Then I moved to pick up my staff in my right hand, then brought down my physical shield and hit the cats with a loud, "_Forzare!_"

The cats flew back like punted footballs, hurtling away from the hillock at such speed that when they hit the ground a few hundred feet distant most of them splattered. Unfortunately, they'd all begun bubbling in midair, and while the impact of landing had killed the thirteen that went flying, a fresh eighteen landed on their feet.

I quickly mounted Shadowfax with Elfleda's help, kept the comprehensive shield pointed in the direction of the soldiers and the sorceress, blocked another trio of regular bolts and one magical one, and burnt the remains of the picnic site with a quick "_Fuego!_" to deny Sofia anything of thaumaturgic value. Then I dug my staff into the stirrup holster and held on for dear life as Elfleda kicked Shadowfax into motion.

We soon left the soldiers behind, but we didn't manage to escape the damn cats, who zipped across the ground like a bunch of roadrunners. I brought up my physical shield and overlapped my two shields again, forming a solid silver-blue bubble to keep out the cats. That turned out to be a not-great idea as Shadowfax promptly panicked at a seeming wall of blue light appearing right in front of him and instinctively balked and reared back, and he would have thrown me from his back and so ran smack dab into the barrier if it wasn't for Elfleda suddenly reaching back and grabbing me by the tunic with strength born of panic and adrenaline.

"Some warning next time!" she said sharply.

"Yeah, yeah," I said with a wince as the cats started clawing at the shields. "Can you get him moving again?"

"Give me a moment," she said.

As she released me and turned back around, trying to coax Shadowfax into moving forward and realizing the shields moved with him, I focused my attention on the cats. Hitting the ground had clearly killed the ones that went flying, so there wasn't some "cats have nine lives" weirdness going on in that regard. Magical force had done nothing to harm them however, and the fire had probably been a miss as well, so my working theory was that they somehow absorbed magic and used that to spawn new cats. Which seemed like the purest bullshit and something that should have limitations, but hell if I could figure out what they were at the moment.

The solution was obvious though: mundane, physical force. The only question was how to apply it in sufficient quantities.

After a few seconds, Elfleda finally convinced Shadowfax to stumble forward, then canter, then finally got him running again as he noticed he wasn't about to run into the shield. This had the pleasing effect of slamming the physical shield into the cats in front and having them slide off like rain off a windshield. Once our front was clear, I dropped the physical shield and reached to grab a handful of ball bearings, carefully rolling one out of my palm and grasping it between index finger and thumb.

Looking over my shoulder, I found that the cats were easily keeping up with us, repeatedly leaping and pouncing at my comprehensive shield. Further back, Sofia and four other riders had crested the hillock and were now chasing after us as well. They weren't that close though so I focused my attention on the cats, trying to get feel for their rhythm and when it would be safe to drop my shield. At a lull between their lunges, I brought down my comprehensive shield, pointed at one of the cats with my right hand, and yelled, "_Forzare!_"

Kinetic force tore the ball bearing out from between my fingers and sent it flying into the head of one of the cats. It punched through its skull like a bullet and dropped the cat to the earth, where it didn't start bubbling again. I snapped up my physical shield right after to block the next lunge, then replaced it with my comprehensive shield.

"Ha!"

I finally had a way to whittle down their numbers. Which, of course, is exactly when Sofia flung out her hand and launched another bolt of force - this time, at the cats. It slammed into the side of two cats and set them to bubbling, bringing the number of cats chasing us up to nineteen from the seventeen I had just dropped it to.

I spared a dirty glance for Sofia, though I doubted she could see my face through the shield at this distance.

Some of the cats abandoned a direct assault and split off to the sides, where they started to slowly gain on us, which was another problem. I checked my palm and counted off seven more ball bearings. Combined with the twelve still in my pocket - I generally carried around twenty - I had just enough to kill all of the cats. Except, of course, for any that Sofia multiplied. I needed a new idea.

And a few seconds later, I thought of one. I pulled my staff out of its holster and turned around the other way, dropping the comprehensive shield in the process. But before the cats could take advantage of that opening, I slashed my staff across and yelled, "_Aparturum!_"

A more horizontal rift than I usually went for tore open the veil between the mortal world and the spirit world. A number of cats, either caught in mid-leap or in the process of jumping, hurtled directly into the opening and disappeared. A quick "_Instaurabos!_" ensured they wouldn't be coming back.

And just like that, nineteen were cut down to twelve.

The cats didn't seem to be any smarter than regular cats, so none of them coordinated or reacted in time as I swept my staff back around to the left and opened another rift, disposing of another four. As I did that I brought up the physical shield on my right to block the cats on that side. Once they did so, I dropped the shield, opened my palm, and before the cats could react shot out the rest of the ball bearings in my hand, killing the ones on the right. Left. Whichever.

That left five, and seeing fourteen of their number disappear in quick succession made them reconsider. Whatever passed for instinct in the minds of these multiplying felines weighed the situation and the lack of progress they'd made, and a few seconds later the remaining black cats just turned tail and ran.

I snapped up a physical shield just in time to deflect a desperate shot from Sofia, which felt even weaker than the last two I'd blocked. I checked the distance between us and the riders - about twenty seconds gallop on horseback - and asked Elfleda to bring us around.

Then I huffed, and I puffed, and I blew the house down. Or to strip out the metaphor, I brought down the shield, thrust my staff forward, and yelled, "_Solvos!_"

_Solvos_ was what I used to take down wards. Usually, I applied a little more care and precision, exercised a degree of courtesy.

I didn't have a lot of courtesy to go around at the moment.

The spell smashed through Sofia's defensive charms like a train hitting a car stuck on the tracks. Bright lights flared about each of the riders, the product of the wards going up in flames. The sudden lights going off near their heads spooked their horses, who whinnied and balked and broke formation.

I gave Sofia a few seconds to properly appreciate how easily I tore apart her wards. Then I looked at her straight on and added a little power to my voice, to make sure it carried.

"Here's the deal: your boss is on his way out," I boomed. "And at the moment, I just feel annoyed. So I'm going to give you just one chance: make like a tree and get out of here, before I change my mind."

Sofia and the riders didn't immediately react, at least from what I could tell, so I decided to give them some encouragement. I pulled out my blasting rod, aimed it above their heads, and shot out a bar of fire in their direction with an added, "Go on, get!"

After another few seconds, Sofia turned her horse around, and after a brief and uncertain pause, the other riders did the same. I kept my blasting rod pointed at them as they left, and only lowered it once they crested the hillock and disappeared.

"And good riddance," I muttered.

Right then Shadowfax whinnied and bucked, Elfleda yelping at the same time. My posture wasn't ideal for staying on, twisted around as it was, so I ended up windmilling my arms as I fell on my face. The moment after I hit the ground I rolled to the right and thrust my staff forward in preparation for an attack.

It never came. In fact there was nothing there, just an open rift in the air right next to a riderless Shadowfax. I blinked, and it took me a few moments to realize what had happened. Then I swore, leapt up, rushed to the edge of the rift - and stopped.

There, just twenty feet inside the rift, standing atop a mound of flowers, was Elfleda. And right behind her, with a hand around Elfleda's throat, was the Leanansidhe.


	79. Chapter 6-VII

**October 1070**

"Wizard, welcome," the Leanansidhe purred. "You put on an amusing show out there, marred as it was by your use of the Bane."

I took a deep breath and looked the Leanansidhe right above the eyes. "Leanansidhe. Were you a party to the attack?"

The Leanansidhe's full, red lips curled into a smirk. "And what if I was?"

I tightened my grip on my staff in response.

Gusts of arctic wind blew out from the rift, quickly dissolving into shimmers of ectoplasm. The sky on the other side was dark, dimly lit by distant stars. From my position I could see a sea of flowers stretching in all directions, flowers with bloodred stems and corpse-pale petals covering the ground like a layer of fresh, bloody snow. There were footsteps and drag marks leading away from the rift, trampling the floors and leaving a trail of bright red liquid.

The silence stretched out in time with the Leanansidhe's smirk before she finally sighed dramatically. "No, I had no part in it, though I was aware of the vampire's impending attempt at revenge. 'Twas why I observed the two of you with such giddy anticipation. And what an opportunity you have provided me, truly."

I frowned and narrowed my eyes. "What opportunity?"

"The Ways are barred to you wizard until such time as my Queen deems otherwise, wizard. All the Ways." She smirked again. "And all their myriad uses."

I stared at her in confusion for a bit before my eyes widened in baffled realization. "The cats?!" I asked. "Really? That's... that's..." Exactly how a faerie would interpret it.

I sighed. "So you decided to take Elfleda instead?"

"Part of me expected more from the sorceress and her servants, I admit," she said. "To drive you into this realm, enough so that I was momentarily left at a loss when you banished those poor matagots. But you did trespass, if only indirectly, so upon consideration I thought it best to follow your example."

"Let her go," I said.

"I think not," she replied. "I did say this was an opportunity, did I not?"

"I don't especially care."

"Perhaps not," the Leanansidhe allowed, tightening her grip on Elfleda's throat. "But I think you'll listen all the same."

I glared at her and said nothing, casting my eyes across the surroundings on the other side. I didn't see any hellhounds, but that didn't mean there weren't any, hiding just out of sight, waiting to ambush me if I crossed over. And I didn't know what the deal with those flowers was, if they produced some kind of harmful gas that was dissolving into ectoplasm as it hit the mortal world.

The Leanansidhe took my silence as agreement and loosened her grip. "You see, my Queen is rather inexperienced in the way of the heart, whereas I..." She smiled. "'Tis in my name. She may believe that a distant ideal of beauty and grace and power is enough on its own, but I know better. When one seeks to capture a man's heart, one must first find the path to it. And then, once the right incentive is at hand, you must properly motivate him."

"Considering everyone you've ever supposedly loved has died as a result, I'm not sure you're qualified to give relationship advice," I said.

"Ah, but they experienced such joy before the end, each and every one of them," she said.

"Yeah, sure. See, this is what I'm talking about. You think that just because you threaten her, that will make me want to go to Mab?"

"Won't it?" the Leanansidhe asked with a smile, tracing a finger across Elfleda's jaw. "You know you are not my equal in power, wizard. And using the Bane here would be most unwise. You wouldn't enjoy waking the marrowblooms."

"And why's that?" I asked.

"Why, they'd eat you, of course," she replied.

"Of course," I muttered.

"Running will not avail you, wizard. There are no tricks left to you. Simply a choice: what do you value more? Your obstinacy, or her life?"

I worked my jaw and considered her words. Then I took a deep breath and planted my staff in the ground. "You're right. The odds are against me, and I guess you've set up a nice little arena for yourself. But you're missing three things."

The Leanansidhe cocked her head. "Oh?"

I put away my blasting rod. "First, this kind of setup isn't new to me. Second, I have a pretty good equalizer." I drew _Amoracchius_ with my right hand, and curled my left hand around the base of the hilt. It didn't burst into light, and its humming was muted, but the cold air blowing out of the rift split apart before the sword, rushing off to either side to dissolve. "And third, aegis!"

Yeah. Of course I included another way to activate the necklace.

A silver bubble burst out of the sapphire around Elfleda's neck, quickly growing to encompass her and throwing the Leanansidhe back. As an added bonus, I'd recently added a fire component that reacted on physical contact, just for that extra bit of discouragement. So when the Leanansidhe went flying, she did so while on fire.

I charged inside and yelled "_Ventas reductas giostrus!_", mixing a few spells together to pull in air from the mortal world and make it start circling around me in case the atmosphere wasn't as hospitable. I pivoted the moment I stepped inside, my boots crunching against the flowers as if they were made of bone, and found that the Leanansidhe's entire pack of hellhounds was arranged behind the rift, as I expected. There were also about thirty or forty of them, which was more than I expected.

I cut down the one immediately to the left as I entered, the iron cleaving through a hound's skull and setting it aflame. I had to pull my blow halfway to make sure I didn't hit the ground or one of the marrowblooms, since I didn't want to test the Leanansidhe's warning about them.

Still, one down, thirty something to go.

A chorus of angry bays split the air as the hellhounds reacted to my assault, and I had to quickly throw up my physical shield to prevent them from overwhelming me. I took up _Amoracchius_ in my left hand for a moment, considered my options for dealing with the pack, and decided that for once, I would try and minimize collateral damage.

So I used lightning. "_Fulminos!_" I cried.

Blue-white lightning shot out from my hand like I was Emperor Palpatine, going right through my physical shield without impediment and striking the front few hellhounds. They whimpered in pain as the lightning grounded itself through their bodies, cooking flesh and fur. God, this day sucked; I typically hated killing anything that resembled an animal, especially something that looked like a cat or dog. And that wasn't about to end.

I backed up until I hit the barrier surrounding Elfleda, the wards being designed to ignore me and her when it came to their "burn on contact" behavior, angled my shield to my right, and slashed _Amoracchius_ out at knee height, switching hands at the end of the swing. That took down another two hellhounds that had gotten close, but now they were between me and the rift. Not that it particularly mattered; as long as the Leanansidhe was able to intervene, it didn't matter how far the rift was or how many hellhounds there were, as I'd never be able to get Elfleda out.

Speaking of the Leanansidhe, she screamed in indignation from behind me, and on instinct I snapped my left hand up and called up my comprehensive shield. Right on time too, because she'd dropped a hail of fist-sized chunks of ice down on my head. I shimmied my way around the outside of my barrier and loosened my grip on the sword, enough to free a few fingers that I used to point at the ground. I then took a moment to grasp what little bits of heat there were in this region of Faerie, and then pulled them straight up with a shout of, "_Glacivallare!_"

A wall of ice about nine feet high, most of a foot thick, and twelve feet long appeared to my left, one side pressed up against the barrier, the other stretching out through the sea of flowers. With my flank briefly secured, I turned around and ran for the Leanansidhe and found that her hands were ablaze with a mix of violet and emerald fire that she immediately launched at me. I swung _Amoracchius_ around wildly, interposing it between me and the fire, which did a decent job of turning what would have been a lethal amount of third-degree burns into a still painful, but less serious mix of second- and first-degree burns.

I spent half a second blocking out what pain I could manage and kept advancing on the Leanansidhe, who snarled and backpedaled out of the reach of the sword. I heard the sound of bone crunching behind me and half-turned on instinct, right hand coming up to form a shield and reconsidering at the last moment.

"_Tornarius!_" I thundered right before the hellhound could bite me. Caught in midleap and with my hand above its head, my reflection of its momentum sent it flying into two more right behind it, turning all three hellhounds into a battered pile of limbs.

By this point, I was starting to breathe hard; between my exertions with opening and closing the multiple Ways, holding off the cats, and all the evocation and shielding right then, I was starting to approach my limits. I still had some gas left in the tank, and I hadn't even touched soulfire yet, but I wanted to keep that trick up my sleeve if at all possible.

Which was looking less and less likely by the second. It wasn't ideal, and it would make Mab more interested in me, but I'd just have to live with that.

I took a deep breath, prepared myself, and unleashed my will with a scream of, "_Laqueus!_"

A cord of pure force leapt out from around me at the Leanansidhe. She swiped her hand and tried to tear the spell apart, but I was ready for that, had been expecting it. I grit my teeth as her magic clashed against mine and forced a mass of soulfire into the spell, the cord suddenly flashing and glittering until it seemed to be made of solid moonlight. The Leanansidhe's eyes widened as the cord resisted her attempt to deflect it and whipped thrice around her throat, tightening savagely. Her eyes bulged as I pulled it tight and her feet dug into the ground, resisting my efforts. I raised _Amoracchius_ and prepared to hold it to her throat when she thrust her hands forward, desperately and crudely manifesting a cataclysmic amount of fire in her hands. I grunted and pulled _Amoracchius_ back to block even as half the power dissipated before it could even be put to use, but she didn't attack me. Instead, the fire leapt like a serpent, arcing over and behind me - towards the barrier around Elfleda. Enough fire to burn down an entire city block battered against the barrier and stopped right as it was about to crack, though a fraction remained swirling above.

I swallowed a yell and turned back to face the Leanansidhe, one hand still held behind me maintaining a shield. The Leanansidhe's catlike eyes bore into mine, and strands of fire flowed through her hands towards the serpents. With a sigh, I loosened the cord slightly, enough for her to talk.

The Leanansidhe released a strangled sigh of relief, then began hoarsely chuckling. When she spoke, it was in a reedy whisper. "Impressive, wizard. Truly. But not enough. Pull me closer, take another step forward, pierce my heart with that blade, and I assure you that with my dying breath, I will shatter that barrier and everything inside it. Then my hounds and the marrowblooms will tear you apart, and you will have won nothing."

I ran my tongue along the inside of my teeth, considering. The Leanansidhe was a practitioner, if an unconventional one, and if even a walking corpse like Mavra could pull off a kind of death curse, then I was willing to bet that the Leanansidhe could too, even if it may not have been strictly conventional. And the kind of death curse she could unleash, the amount of power behind it, I had no real recourse against.

"Then I guess we're in a standoff," I said quietly.

The Leanansidhe chuckled again. "No, we are not. Impressive as this was, nothing has really changed. You cannot threaten me without also threatening that which you cherish. I told you, you know you are not my equal. And for all the power the Sword of Love possesses, it was still not enough, and is no more useful to you now than a common butcher's knife." She shook her head. "You could never have overcome me, Harry."

I took a deep breath and wracked my brain, looking for a way out of this. The Leanansidhe was betting hard on me not having a way around her death curse, which was admittedly a bet with good odds. If I could somehow get _Amoracchius_ in the way I could maybe block it, but she knew that as well; her final attack, if it came, would come from too many angles to cut it off completely. And Elfleda would die.

I needed to change the stakes somehow. I thought over how I'd beaten my Lea in my past, the tricks I'd used. Running was overdone and not useful in this situation, and iron wasn't a real option in this scenario even if I could hit her with it and not set off her death curse. There was only one option left, one way in which I'd beaten her in the past, and which might work again now. A rather fitting option.

The _most_ fitting option, really.

"You're right," I said. "_Amoracchius_ is about as useful as a butcher's knife right now. But, it also doesn't need to be anything more than that."

I pulled the sword back - and set it right against my neck.

* * *

Author's Note: Always found it a bit interesting how Lea throws around fire as her go-to attack. I mean yes, faerie fire, I know, but still.


	80. Chapter 6-VIII

**October 1070  
**  
The Leanansidhe blinked slowly, her golden eyes glittering with confusion. "What are you doing?" she croaked.

"Threatening myself," I said.

As she stared at me as I had gone mad, I was quickly structuring my death curse in my head. I didn't really want to use it, obviously, but if I was going to threaten myself then I needed a coherent plan. I needed to get Elfleda out of the Nevernever, and I needed to do something about Bonea. Getting her out was probably going to be the easy part, as there was no reason to be careful with my head when pulling off a death curse, but getting her away from the Leanansidhe and Mab would be the trickier part. Still, spirits could travel pretty fast, so as long as I could retain enough awareness will her away, that part was handled.

But all of that wouldn't matter in the slightest if I couldn't also threaten the Leanansidhe with it. The question was how.

"And what do you believe this will accomplish?" the Leanansidhe asked slowly. "Do you think to threaten me with your death curse when you already possess the Sword of Love?"

I clicked my tongue. "Sort of. Actually, I'm just threatening you with my death. See, what the stalking and the interest and the interdict says to me is that Mab is interested. In me, being alive. I'm no use to her dead."

The Leanansidhe tried to cock her head to the side, a difficult action with the cord in the way. "I am well aware, wizard. But I have already told you that if you kill me, you will die. What does reversing the order change?"

I licked my lips. This next part relied on Bonea having the relevant information, on me being able to extract and use it properly before I died. But there was an upside to it: death curses generally needed less structure than regular spells. It was the idea that was important.

"Simple. You don't die," I said.

The Leanansidhe furrowed her brow in confusion.

I went on. "See, death can be pretty bad. But living long enough to see everything fall apart, living long enough to lose everything you had... that can be a lot worse. That's what I'm threatening you with. You can't stop me from killing myself. You can't stop me getting off my death curse, and empowering it as much as I can manage. From leaving too little to bring back. And most importantly, you can't stop me from calling your Queen with my dying breath. Her name's pretty simple after all, just one syllable, and I only need to say it one more time."

The Leanansidhe was silent, lips thinned into a line, eyes narrowed. Her hounds growled and shifted uncertainly around us. I adjusted my grip on _Amoracchius_, pressed its steel a little closer to my neck, enough to start bleeding. The Leanansidhe made a sound, and they stopped.

"Do you imagine you could bring my Queen's ire against me with your death?" she finally asked.

"Yeah," I said. "I do."

"I am her most valued servant, whereas you are but a recalcitrant mortal," she said.

"That's true. But when I'm done with you, we'll both be nothing," I replied. "Your value to her is tied to your power. Take that away, and what reason does she have to be merciful?"

The Leanansidhe's eyes widened. "You cannot do that."

"Can't I?" I asked. "With this sword at my neck, with all the power at my disposal, with my familiarity with Winter? Every time you've faced me, you've been unpleasantly surprised. And every time, I've had a reason to hold back, to pace myself, to not go all out. From where I'm standing right now, I don't see much reason to do so."

I took a deep breath and fought down a wince as the skin of my throat rubbed against _Amoracchius_, slightly widening the cut. "Let me tell you how I see this going down. I cut these arteries and start bleeding out. I get Elfleda out of here. I get the Sword out of here. I cripple you. And as my final act, I call the Queen. And then there's just you, standing alone, with little to no power, and nothing to show her for it but my corpse.

"Now, I know what you're thinking. 'Is he bluffing? Can he take away my power?'" I shrugged. "Well, to tell you the truth, I'm not entirely sure myself. But seeing as how I'm one of the strongest wizards in the world when it comes to raw power, with a lot of soulfire to back up what would be my last spell ever, and _Amoracchius_ to ensure I got it off cleanly, I figure I can take _everything_ from you. So you've got to ask yourself one question: 'do I feel lucky?'"

The Leanansidhe stared at me closely, narrowed eyes looking all over my face, searching for any sign I was bluffing. "That had the feel of a practiced speech," she noted quietly.

I shrugged my left shoulder. "Going out quoting _Dirty Harry_ isn't a bad way to do it," I said.

The Leanansidhe slowly rubbed her lips together, her eyes falling to my throat, where a small trickle of blood was winding its way down my neck. "Do you love her?"

I blinked. "What? Who?"

"The woman hiding in your shield, the one you came to me to save. Do you love her?"

I furrowed my brow. "I don't see what that has to do with this."

"It has everything to do with this, Harry," she said, her tone still hoarse and quiet. "Tell me, wizard, do you truly love her, enough to die for her?"

Oh. That's what she meant.

I glanced over at _Amoracchius_, the soft thrum of the blade sounding like thunder from how close it was to my ear. That was what my threat was based on, and if I didn't have _Amoracchius_, I had nothing. That's why she used her last question like that, to check if I could carry through.

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. I turned, enough to look over my shoulder at the glowing silver barrier, and Elfleda just inside. Then I looked back at the Leanansidhe. It took me a few seconds to finally reach the conclusion I'd been working towards since I charged in to fight the Leanansidhe.

"Yes," I said. "I do."

The Leanansidhe let out a long, slow sigh, and the fire in her hands and the air steadily dissipated, the cold settling in to replace it. I didn't let down my guard, and kept _Amoracchius_ pressed to the side of my neck.

"Then go," she said.

"Call off your hounds," I replied.

The Leanansidhe gestured and the hellhounds growled and moved back, the marrowblooms crunching with every step. I didn't lower my shield as they backed up, though I did slowly turn and move to make sure they were all backing up, that there wasn't one hiding somewhere. Once they fell back I lowered my shield and started moving towards Elfleda. When I reached the barrier I put my right hand up against it and worked a little bit of power into it, into the tiny flaw I'd inserted.

The silver shield unraveled and collapsed, releasing Elfleda. She was standing there, eyes wide, breathing heavy. I don't know if I was much better.

I took her hand and moved towards the rift, keeping an eye on the Leanansidhe the entire way, slowly pulling the cord back as I walked. Once we crossed the rift and departed the freezing, downright creepy sea of flowers, I let go of Elfleda and slashed my hand down, intoning, "_Instaurabos_."

The rift sealed up, my cord disappeared, and I finally let out a sigh of relief.

"Ow," I said right after, as _Amoracchius_ bit a little further into my neck. I lowered it and pressed my hand to the wound. "Ow ow ow."

I turned to look at Elfleda, who was staring at me as if this was her first time seeing me. I licked my lips nervously.

"Uhm..." I closed my eyes briefly. "In the backmost saddlebag on the right, there should be some bandages. Can you get them for me please?"

Elfleda nodded and moved towards Shadowfax, who was grazing a good twenty feet away from the site of the former rift. I stayed next to my staff, waiting, and thanked Elfleda when she came back. Then I took the smallest bandage, wiped _Amoracchius_ clean of my blood, sheathed it, and only then did I start wiping and treating my neck wound.

When I was done, neither of us spoke for some time, a few minutes or so. In the end, it was Elfleda who broke the silence.

"Make like a tree and get out of here?" she asked, her tone quiet and questioning.

I took a deep breath. "Yeah, you're right, I said it wrong. Should've been 'make like a tree and leave.'"

Elfleda stared at me for another second, then snorted, then started laughing hysterically. I joined in, chuckling and smiling.

"You are... utterly incorrigible... aren't you?" she asked in between bouts of laughter.

"Quotes are serious business."

She shook her head, still laughing, and smoothed out her dress. Then she looked up at me, and her laughter quieted down, replaced by an expression I'd never seen on her face before: nervous uncertainty. "Did you mean what you said in there?" she asked.

"I did," I replied.

Elfleda pursed her lips. "Thank you," she said quietly.

I waited a bit before nodding. "Dealing with the assassination attempt and fighting the Leanansidhe wore me out. I'm tired. Let's go home."

"Yes, let's," she agreed.

I pulled my staff out of the ground and walked over to Shadowfax. I tried to get up first, take the reins, but Elfleda shook her head and took the lead, helping me up instead. If I were in better shape maybe I would have made a bigger issue about it, but as it was I shrugged and took her hand.

"Soulfire?" Elfleda asked as she gathered the reins and spurred Shadowfax into motion.

I let out a long sigh. "It's a long story, and a complicated subject."

"We have time."

"I guess we do."

It took most of an hour to get back to Berkhamsted. The guards gave me a look as we passed through the gates on account of my bandage, a mix of jealousy and amusement. We got Shadowfax settled in, left the saddlebags in the stable, and finally ended up outside the doors to my house, right under the sign proclaiming my business. I brought the wards down, opened the door, and then turned to face Elfleda, feeling an awkward mix of emotions.

"Well... good night," I said.

Elfleda looked at me and let out a long, disappointed sigh. Then she pushed me inside, closed the door, and I don't really remember much of what happened next.

* * *

Author's Note: Merry Christmas everyone.


	81. Chapter 6-IX

**November 1070**

My next coherent memory after what seemed like a half-night of wild passion was waking up in bed with Elfleda lying half on the bed, half on top of me, and a burning desire to relieve myself. I weighed the pros and cons of disturbing Elfleda to do so, and the call of nature won. I gently lifted her and started sliding my way out, which didn't work as well as I hoped and still woke Elfleda.

A hand brushed against my chest and Elfleda murmured, "Harry."

"Sorry, I have to go for a bit," I said.

"Mmm, stay." The request was accompanied by a dragging nail.

"I don't think you want the bed getting any dirtier than it already is," I said.

Elfleda grumbled in wordless discontent but pulled her hand back anyway, rolling over onto her side to let me go free. With waking her no longer being a concern, I pulled the covers back and slid out, shivering slightly from the cold.

Every inch of the bedroom was covered in a light layer of rime. I guess neither of us was really restrained or controlled after we got into the bedroom. At least the aura turned cold around Elfleda; I didn't want to imagine what my room would've looked like if it were literally burning hot. I wiped away the rime from my books with a few murmured spells, and abandoned the rest of the room as a lost cause.

I was lost in thought as I made my way to my bathroom. I'll spare you the sordid physical details involved. Instead, I'll focus on what I was thinking: that I was nervous and excited and worried all at once, that unprotected premarital sex meant something very different thing and could have very different consequences in this time than it did in mine, more practical concerns about what the attack from Gauthier's sorceress heralded. If those cats, matagots, were the extent of what Gauthier could call upon, or if he had more formidable defenses set up around his domain.

Inevitably though, my thoughts went to my prior girlfriends. Not for reasons of comparison, but due to melancholy and concern. I'd been in three real relationships over the years, maybe four to five depending on how you interpreted things. Elaine had been the first, when we were both fumbling teenagers. I don't know if what we had between us was real love or just a teenage crush, but I don't think it really mattered; we were happy and very into each other and full of hope - and then Justin took that away. I spent a decade thinking I'd killed her, which probably accounted for a good half of my attitudes towards women.

Then there was Susan. She was an attractive reporter, and at first she seemed more interested in getting with me than I was with her. Then we ended up in a circle together hiding from a demon after she ended up accidentally drinking a love potion I'd somehow brewed, and things kicked off from there. The road was rocky, but I came to love her, to want to marry her. And then the Red Court screwed it all up, and the end came when I drove that ritual knife through her heart to kill them all. I still don't think I've gotten over that. I don't know if I ever will.

Anastasia was ultimately a fling, I guess. Not because of the way we approached the relationship, but because of how it ended. A necromancer had swapped bodies with her, leaving her in a body probably a few centuries younger than her original one. That left her susceptible to magical mental influence, and a traitor on the Council steadily pushed her towards a relationship with me, to keep an eye on me. Neither of us were aware of that, and for a year and a half we dated. Then everything came out, and she broke it off. I don't blame her for that. Though, I think it says something that "there was never anything real between us" was the best way one of my relationships has ended.

And Lash was, well, I've already gone into detail about Lash. We didn't so much have a relationship as a slow, steady seduction on both ends, entirely intentional on her part and entirely unintentional on mine. In a sense that relationship was the shortest; only a few days passed between when I started seeing her as a real, independent being to when she sacrificed herself for me.

I wasn't sure how to count Shiela. She'd effectively been an extension of Lash, but she'd acted very differently, and to this day I'm still not sure how much of that persona was really false. What I can't deny was that it was very effective; she hit all my buttons and got the promise of a date out of me while an apocalypse was going on. The only reason I even figured out anything was wrong was because of a friend. The point was that, as I said earlier, every single relationship I've been in has either started under false pretenses, ended in the death of my girlfriend - thankfully assumed in Elaine's case - or both. And a large part of me was wondering how this relationship, with Elfleda, would end.

That worry didn't linger for long.

Interesting side note: you know how sometimes, you walk through a door into another room and completely forget what you came in there for? That's not an accident; back in my time, researchers had recently discovered, or maybe more appropriately established, that it was the result of a deliberate brain-quirk. See, the mind kind of works on a priority system. It tries to focus on one task at a time, collating and organizing the bits and pieces relevant to whatever you're working on that point. And when you're done with that task, it gets rid of most of those little side details that were only important to that particular task. Sometimes, it gets rid of a little more. And sometimes, walking through a door tricks the brain into thinking you've started something new, so it wipes the slate and leaves you standing there looking like an idiot.

So as I exited my washroom and closed the door, I stood there like an idiot for a few seconds, wondering what I'd just been thinking. Then it came to me:

_Shiela._

I'd been thinking about her, and whether to count her. I nodded, accepted that as fact, and started to go back to the bedroom - and then stopped. With the slate wiped clean, the topic put behind me, new mental associations formed. New connections.

Eve had asked about Shiela. Not exactly by name, but she'd still asked. At first, I figured it was just simple curiosity. And then Eve directed me at Rowena, and I dealt with Esther, and put the question of Shiela behind me. Except, I now wondered if there was more to it. Eve's last question had been a roundabout way to get me to go save Rowena, a "suggestion" that threaded a loophole in whatever bindings came with the Archive. Had she made another "suggestion"?

I would've dismissed it ordinarily, but the thing with Eve was that she could read everything I wrote. And on the boat to France, the day after the Leanansidhe and Mab had "ambushed" me, I'd written about that encounter, the strategy I'd used, the way I'd ordered the questions. Specifically, I didn't ask the question I really wanted to know the answer to at the start, or the end. I asked her in the middle, when she wasn't paying attention.

Eve would have known about that. She could have used that exact method to sneak me another message. But why?

My thoughts started smashing together like balls in a lottery machine.

The Archive in my time had known a lot about Tessa, about her life before becoming a Denarian and presumably after. She would have known everything the Church had ever learned about how the various Denarians and Fallen worked - including Lasciel. It wouldn't be that much of a stretch for her to guess how Lash would have approached me. She could have asked that question just out of curiosity, or she could have been suggesting that someone close to me was not who they seemed to be. Kind of like my subconscious, all those months ago, had suggested that I was missing something, possibly something about Lasciel, about a connection with her.

And then it hit me: I didn't remember any of the sex with Elfleda. That felt odd to me now. I mean, sure, I was tired and excited and we clearly exhausted each other, but I would have expected to remember something, anything, flashes. But no. All I could remember was coming in, getting healed of the burns and the cut, stumbling into my bedroom, tearing each other's clothes off, and that's it. Nothing until just a few minutes ago, when I woke up, however many hours later.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. I was just letting my paranoia and pessimism get to me, I told myself. Or at least I tried to; it didn't entirely stick. I stood there, struggling with myself, wondering if Elfleda had actually been lying all along, was still lying, or if I'd careened down a completely irrelevant and harmful train of thought. I took a deep breath, and tried to clear my mind.

A soulgaze. A soulgaze would do it. If I was committed to staying with her, to effectively endangering her with my presence, then she deserved to know me, to make that choice with as much information as possible. And if she was lying, I would see that.

Determined, I drew myself up and marched into my bedroom. Some of the rime had faded by that point, and Elfleda had settled into lounging position, lying on her side, head propped up one one hand, the blankets pulled up around her chest. She had a very pensive expression as I walked in, one that didn't fade as she turned to look at me.

"Elfleda-"

"Harry, I-"

We both cut off at the same time, not quite looking at each other in our usual fashion. I licked my lips and went to tell her to go first, but Elfleda beat me to the punch.

She sighed, gestured with her other hand, and said, "Please. You first."

I took a deep breath, suddenly very nervous at the last step. "Elfleda, I think... I think if we're going to make this work, you need to be aware of... of who I am. So, to do that... I think we should soulgaze."

Elfleda grew still as a statue. She lay there, not moving, not breathing, for what felt like an eternity. Just lying there, frozen, under my gaze.

After a timeless eon, she let out a long, deep sigh and slowly raised her eyes towards mine. They met, and I expected the soulgaze to start.

And expected.

And expected.

And nothing happened.

It was like the snowflake that causes the avalanche. I felt like the ground had fallen away from me, like I was crumbling, facts and observations and missed details tumbling into place. She'd asked what I would do if she were sidhe. She never truly gave her name. She always tried to balance things. The soulgaze didn't work on her.

My first assumption was that she'd Chosen, become a Sidhe out of fear and then desperately tried to get me to accept her. It would fit with what I'd Seen of her, her reaction to iron upon our first meeting, her ability to lie. Only there were still inconsistencies, ones that became apparent as more things clicked. I'd only Seen her once, seen her touch iron once, seen her lie once. And then I'd accepted her as a changeling and stopped thinking about it. Stopped questioning. Was careful with handling iron around her. Accepted her wordplay as a quirk. But she'd never told another lie since then - or before then.

And as I thought about it, I realized that she had never truly defined her past to me. She'd claimed the name Aldrich, but never said she was actually of that family. She told me her mother was a Winter Sidhe and implied that she'd killed her, but never actually said so - just that her mother was dead, as was her father. She had no aunts or uncles, but never mentioned siblings - like a sister. And Mab had never done anything to Elfleda, never so much as mentioned her. Neither had the Leanansidhe. In fact, when the Leanansidhe took Elfleda, she hadn't used that name. Hadn't called her by it even once. She'd only described her - "woman", "the one you came to save", "that which you cherish." She hadn't even threatened to actually kill Elfleda either, just to shatter everything inside the barrier. That wasn't conclusive, it still ran into the issue of the changeling I'd seen, the potential contradiction that came with what had happened on the boat ride to Cornwall, but even that crumbled under the weight of logic.

If Mab had one body double, what was stopping her from having two? She would have known I used iron utensils; she could have sent a changeling the first time she came to my house, to "confirm" that she was mortal and render herself above suspicion, and every other time she needed to get out a tricky spot.

The Leanansidhe's words came back to me: "When one seeks to capture a man's heart, one must first find the path to it. And then, once the right incentive is at hand, you must properly motivate him." If my worst fears were true, then Mab, and by extension the Leanansidhe, would have known exactly what I would do, exactly how I would react.

Then there was the way my aura reacted around her: always cold, never warm, never even just calm. It wasn't like that around anyone else. It hadn't been like that around the Red Cap and his posse. It hadn't been like that around the Leanansidhe, when she was alone. It hadn't even gone a particular direction around the centaurs, who were themselves fully fae. No, it only ever consistently grew cold around Elfleda, as if she were the one bringing the cold.

And lastly, the specter of what I didn't remember hung over me like a guillotine, taking on a terribly sinister cast. I could have forgotten, or I could have been made to forget, because I realized something during intercourse. Something devastating.

I dug into Bonea's memories in the hope she retained the knowledge, could provide me this final answer, and something I'd never felt before happened: I was rejected. Prevented. It wasn't like the knowledge wasn't there, I knew what that felt like, but that I had been kept from retrieving it.

And then, as if grudgingly, the resistance faded, and the knowledge came to me. It was exactly what I'd feared.

I didn't remember the sex because we hadn't really had sex. You can't have sex with a thunderstorm, an earthquake, a furious winter gale. You can't make love to a mountain, a lake of ice, a freezing wind. What we had was a joining, a point in time where I saw the breadth and depth of her power all over again.

I swallowed, hard, and said in a bare whisper, "Mab."

In the silence that followed, Elfleda's form dissolved before my very eyes.

* * *

Author's Note: This, ladies and gentlemen, is why for all that I strongly implied it at times, I went to very careful lengths to never explicitly say that Mab was not Elfleda, to be super, super careful with what Elfleda said, at what times.

And the part I love the most about this, the part that I am so happy no one ever commented on, is that two months ago, I gave you one half of the proof. And a few weeks ago, I gave you the other half - and no one put it together.


	82. Chapter 6-X

**November 1070**

It is at this point that I must inform the reader that I am not writing these events, from the start of Samhain on, soon after they happened, as is the case with the rest of my journals. In fact there is a rather significant gap in time between now, when I am writing this, and then, when this happened. The reason for this is that, in the immediate aftermath of the previous revelation, I was not in a state of mind that was remotely close to right or proper. Even now, trying to remember what happened is like looking back on things through a haze. To that end, I apologize if I fail to convey the full magnitude of the rage, betrayal, and despair I felt.

The visual difference between Elfleda and Mab was striking, but not because of any major difference, but through the accumulation of many minor ones. Elfleda had been five-eleven, coming a little short of my chin. Mab was six-four, the top of her head level with my nose. Their eyes were different, Elfleda's being normal, Mab's being slitted like a cat's, but both were a bright green. One was blonde with curly hair, the other platinum-blonde in a long and flowing style. Both were pale but one was paler. But if you sanded away the edges, looked at the broad strokes, then they started to look remarkably similar.

"Harry- " She'd pushed herself up, tried to speak, her voice no longer Elfleda's but Mab's, but I wasn't having any of it.

"Stop," I said, my voice, my arms, my entire body shaking with anger and confusion and fear. "It was you all along, wasn't it? You were the one that drove Tim to explore. You're the reason I ran into him. You're the reason... you're the reason I came here, aren't you?"

Mab didn't respond. She just continued to stare at me, and had the gall to look sad.

"Answer me!" I yelled.

"Yes," she said.

I staggered as if punched. I felt sick, on the verge of throwing up. "Oh God. Oh _God_. I told you everything. I gave Eva to you. What the hell have I done?"

"Your apprentice is not mine," she said.

"What the hell does that even mean?" I snarled. "That you sold her?"

"That I had not the time to look after and teach and guide her," she replied. "Thus I devolved the responsibility to the changeling I arranged and charged to act in my stead, as I devolved many other responsibilities, as I took on a number of hers."

"Because that's better. Pass her from the care of one deceiver into another." I ran a hand through my hair. "How much of it was you? How much was you and how much was... the changeling? God, is Elfleda even her name?"

"It is," she said. "Elfleda acted the part at court, when traveling, on rare occasions in this home: the first time, the time you returned from Cornwall. For the most part, when I expected to see you, when Elfleda expected to see you, then it was me."

"So at least that small part wasn't a lie," I growled.

"I never lied to you, Harry-"

"What the hell do you call all this, then?" I yelled, gesturing wildly with one hand. "Huh?! What the hell can you call this entire relationship besides a lie, a sham!" I laughed bitterly and mirthlessly. "God, now it all makes sense, why you never seemed to put any effort into going after me. Why bother, when your grotesque masquerade was working well enough?"

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, you're sorry are you? Oh, I suppose that just makes it alright then, I'm supposed to just forget about the fact that you raped me!" I yelled.

Mab furrowed her brow in incomprehension. "In what sense?" she asked.

I stared at her. "In what sense... you violated my mind! You made me forget having sex with you in order to continue this absurd... thing between us!"

"You enjoyed it," she said, sounding honestly confused.

"Like that justifies things," I said. Then I paused, ground my teeth together, and took a deep breath. "How many other times have you screwed with my mind, forced me to remember what you wanted, lead me along like a dog on a leash?"

"Never before tonight," she said. "And I have no interest in a dog, leashed or not."

"Is that so," I said, unconvinced. "You staged a real dog and pony show back there with your handmaiden. I bet you were planning on laughing all about it with the Leanansidhe later."

Mab's eyes flashed with irritation and anger, and I went on. "Look, I get it. You're sidhe, the Queen of Winter, the incarnation of cold cruelty. You don't think this is a big deal. Fine. But before I decide what to do with you, I just have one question for you: do you love me?"

My voice had gotten quieter and quiter as I spoke, until that last question came out in a bare whisper. Mab heard it all the same. The anger in her eyes cooled and faded, and her expression grew flat. She didn't respond.

"Well?" I demanded. "It's a simple yes or no question."

I waited, and waited. I don't know what for; I'm not sure what response I wanted, what answer. But she didn't say anything.

I scoffed and looked away, running a hand through my hair. "Of course. What did I expect." I took a deep breath. "You can make one last request of me. Name one final task. Get it over with. And once that's done and this mistake's behind us, I want you to get the hell out of my life, and Eva's."

"That is her decision to make," she said. "And I do not have a task in mind for you at this time."

I snapped my hand out to the side and called my sword, tearing it free of the rime coating and swinging it around to point right at Mab's breast, right over her heart. "Then reconsider," I snarled.

Mab blinked and looked upon the sword with faint surprise. "You are... coercing me?" she asked in a kind of wondering, novel tone.

"Yeah," I said. "I am. Deal doesn't say anything about that."

Mab pursed her lips and sighed. My arm, which had been shaking with fury up to this point, completely stilled as she willed it to stop moving. She started to sit up, and said, "Harry, idle threats do not become you-"

She cut off sharply as I fashioned a pair of hand constructs out of soulfire, one to force open my own hand, the other to grasp my sword by the crossguard and move it until the tip was just above the skin of her breast.

"It's Samhain," I whispered.

Mab stilled.

"Did you think I was bluffing, when I threatened the Leanansidhe?" I continued in that same, quiet tone. "No. I may not have been entirely certain how well I could manage it, but I damn well knew I could damage her power, destroy it. Just like I know I can kill you. And you walked into my house without an invitation. You left most of your power at the door. You can't stop me. So again, I suggest you reconsider."

And then Mab did something utterly incongruous: she took a deep breath. Her chest swelled with air. And she winced, as the smell of sizzling flesh filled the room.

I frowned, confused for a moment, and looked down at my sword, and at first, and for a while, it didn't make sense to me why Mab's flesh was burning. It took me a minute to realize that it wasn't my sword, wasn't Snickers. It was _Amoracchius_. I blinked and looked around the room, wondering how that had happened. The scenario seemed so similar to that dream, to that nightmare when Mab appeared, that I had just assumed that my sword was there, to be called upon. But it wasn't; it was downstairs, just by the door to the foyer.

"You won't use that blade against me," Mab said, frozen mulberry lips twitching with pain. "You can't."

I looked down the length of _Amoracchius_, to the point where the Nail had been driven in, and stared at it. Then, I slowly looked up to meet Mab's gaze, my expression utterly devoid of mercy.

Were I in a better place, mentally, maybe I would have listened to her. But I wasn't. I was angry and unbalanced and it was all aimed at her. I'd picked up a sword to threaten her, to force out the final task, and at that point, in my mind, that sword was the only thing standing between me and whatever Mab wanted to do to me.

It didn't matter that I ended up drawing the wrong sword. I didn't care or even think about the consequences in that moment. I just wanted the nightmare to be over.

"Can't I?" I asked calmly. "Regardless of whatever happens to it, it's steel. And you are not an innocent, far from it."

And for a single, terrible moment, I thought of just willing the one construct forward. Of punching through the forming burn-scar and cutting out her heart. Of just... ending it.

I really, really wanted to.

The sword started to inch forward, and then someone kicked me in the head. Not literally, but it definitely felt like it. My vision swam, my ears rang, and my control slipped, my hand constructs freezing in place as the will that drove it was temporarily disrupted. I staggered, pained, disoriented, and brought my other hand up to my head as one of the worst migraines I'd ever experienced pounded and paraded its way through my skull. But then it started fading, my vision started resolving, my ears stopped ringing, and my hand constructs were still there, keeping my hand open and holding _Amoracchius_ to Mab's breast.

I wetted my lips. "Last chance," I whispered.

Mab closed her eyes and stayed that way for a minute, her breathing quiet and shallow. When she opened her eyes again she glanced down at her body, past the necklace she was still fucking wearing, at the point where _Amoracchius_ had been pressing into her flesh. Then she looked back at me and slowly waved a hand. "May I?"

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

"Produce a document, nothing more," she said.

I stared at her for a few seconds, then moved _Amoracchius_ back over the scar and nodded. She flicked her hand out, and ice and snow shot out, coalescing into a large, heavy book with silver embroidery and detailing on all sides. She grasped the book by its spine and turned it around so I could see the cover. There, just to the left of Mab's thumb, was the title. It read, THE UNSEELIE ACCORDS.

I frowned. The Unseelie Accords were a recent creation in my time, even by regular human standards of time, written in the aftermath of the 1994 Unseelie incursion. They were based on older principles that guided interaction between the various supernatural nations, so there was some continuity, but that was the thing: based on. As far as I knew, there hadn't been a first version of the Unseelie Accords, especially not one dating to medieval times.

Except, evidently, something had changed. And I didn't have the slightest clue what.

"Okay...?" I asked. "What do you want me to do with that?"

"Various groups, including your Council, have agreed to sign, establish, and follow these Accords," Mab said. "But some are yet holding out, and some have gone further and wholly rejected the notion. Have insulted me. This is the White King's copy."

I shot a second glance at the huge, encyclopedic tome. The book then opened and blurred into motion, dozens and hundreds of pages flickering past before landing on the very last one, where there was space to sign and apply a seal. The space was empty.

"To be clear: you want me to make the White King, the sovereign of the White Court, sign your Accords?" I asked.

"Precisely."

"Okay. How am I to manage that?" I asked.

Mab furrowed her brow. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I'm not in the mood to run around figuring things out," I said. "I want to know where he is, or where he's going to be, and how to get to him."

"Presently, he is at the estate of one Gauthier Renouth," Mab said.

I narrowed my eyes. "He's not Gauthier himself, is he?"

"No, Gauthier is not the Lord Raith," she replied. "Gauthier has called a summit of the White Court. Members have been trickling in for some time now, but it was meant to begin tomorrow night. Doubtless he wished to display you or your corpse as a sign of strength, to quiet rumors of his demise or fall. Now, he will try and secure support for his vendetta against you."

"Let me get this straight: you want me to walk into a meeting of the White Court, a congregation of dozens, perhaps scores of vampires, and get their King to sign an agreement he doesn't want to sign. Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes."

"Great. And how am I supposed to get to Gauthier's estate in time for this, exactly?" I asked. "Or at all?"

"The Renouth twins can guide you through the Ways," she said. "Or you can find your own way. Or you may choose to pursue the White King on your own time. But as you already seek vengeance against Gauthier, and demand a task, I consider this an expedient combination."

I considered her offer. It was ludicrous, on the face of it, but it fit in with me, with us, getting revenge on Gauthier. Helga and Rowena and Salazar would be coming along - and Salazar was the big one in that instance. He was still holding a torch for his wife decades after her death, and he had a basilisk; as big guns went there were few bigger. And even better, he'd be immune to the White King's "charms", to the Lord Raith. And if we got the King to sign the Accords, to agree to something the Council wanted, we could get Edinburgh. We could get recognition and support. We could finally go ahead.

And Mab knew that, damn it, because I'd trusted her and told her.

"Put the book down," I said. "And swear that you'll stay the hell away from Eva."

Mab released the book containing the Accords, and it gently floated down and settled against the floor. She then looked down at the tip of _Amoracchius_, staring at it silently for a while, weighing it, considering it. Finally, she said, "I shall not involve myself, or my court, in Eva's life. Is that satisfactory?"

"Yeah," I said. "I accept your request." I pulled _Amoracchius_ back a few inches, until its hilt sat comfortably in my open, frozen hand. "Now get the hell out of my house, and don't come back. In fact, don't come back at all, ever, wherever I end up living or going; I never want to see you again."

Mab looked upon me with a frozen, dull expression and glimmering, sad eyes. Then she dissolved into air and darkness, and was sucked out through the small gap in my window.

After she was gone, I stood there for I don't know how long. I know I dismissed the constructs, and physically grasped _Amoracchius_ again, but the when of that is murky. What I remember most of all though, is that all of a sudden, I threw _Amoracchius_ aside and screamed.

* * *

Author's Note: A reminder for all, before you start. The conceit of the vast majority of this story is that Harry is writing it post-facto. That means he has to live to write it, has to get to the point mentally and emotionally where he feels he can write about it. Things are going to get better in a matter of parts, by the New Year. But before then things are going to get worse. That's sort of inherently how a climax works, how it resolves itself. 


	83. Chapter 6-XI

**November 1070**

I didn't get much sleep for the rest of the night. I couldn't even stay in my bedroom. I just took everything I'd need for tomorrow and went downstairs, to the main room. There was a small and varnished perch there, shaped like a bowl atop a stick, where Guy slept. I stopped when I saw him, wondering if he'd felt what had gone on upstairs. Considering the amount of rime it seemed like he should've, but he was fast asleep.

"Guy," I said. He didn't stir. Worried that Mab might've done something, I set the Accords down on my table and moved over to his perch, then poked him. A few times. Nothing happened.

Frowning, I leaned forward, Listening for the sound of his breathing. I let out a sigh of relief once I heard it, and leaned back. I considered waking him up anyway, maybe by tossing fire at him, but I didn't have the heart for it. Let someone get a good night's sleep.

I went to my larder and mixed myself a mildly alcoholic drink, put it in a tankard I'd bought off one of the local bars, and went to sit down. Drinking myself into a stupor seemed an attractive option at that moment, but I couldn't afford to wake up with a hangover and a splitting headache. Not when I was planning on walking into a den of vampires.

With nothing better to do, I brought a few candles over, lit them up, and opened up the Accords, figuring I may as well see what it was I was forcing Lord Raith to sign. There was a small preface in what felt like Etruscan, but while I could speak Etruscan, I couldn't read a lick of it. After flipping through a few pages and finding that the rest of the text was in Latin, I decided a memory dive for written Etruscan - which Lash may not have even retained - wasn't worth the risk.

I'd never been very "up" on the Accords back in my time. I just knew the gist: rules of engagement, rules of hospitality, weregild, neutral ground, conflict resolution, Freeholding Lords, so on. But the one thing I did remember was that my copy fit on a vellum scroll, and not a huge one either. This book seemed to be much larger.

So was the handwriting in this book, but I didn't think it was enough to make that much of a difference.

I couldn't make much sense of the opaque syntax, but some surface elements seemed to be the same as what I was familiar with, with large segments devoted to seemingly every form of conflict resolution between two Accorded entities one could think of. In fact, it probably was every conflict resolution method Mab could think of. I skipped large tracts to go to the middle, found the language had switched to French, then jumped to the last few pages, before the page where Raith was supposed to sign, and found that it had switched back to probably-Etruscan.

So the "official" set of guidelines at the start, followed by questionably official translations, ostensibly for the benefit of the reader, but probably to try and trip them up. Classic faerie sophistry, in other words.

I flipped over to the French translation and started over there. While the syntax wasn't much better, it was at least easier to read; even with Lash's help in sorting out my Latin, the fact I'd chosen pseudo-Latin as my lingua arcana was still screwing me over all these decades later, so where possible I preferred to avoid it. Probably another factor behind why I hadn't gone to Constantinople, now that I thought about it.

At some point I must have slumped over and fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew someone was pounding at the door, the candles on the table had gone out, and rays of morning sunlight were stabbing into my eyes as someone crooned over me. I opened my eyes blearily, finding Guy leaning over me looking as worried as a bird could manage.

"Hey," I groaned, clutching my head and sitting up. Luckily I hadn't fallen asleep on the Accords; delivering a drooled-on book would have been an excellent conversation starter. I blinked my eyes a few times, looking over at the shelf with the ward-candles, and found that they were both very large, and very blue.

Someone hit the door again.

"Coming!" I yelled. Then I winced as Guy started rapidly clacking his talons against the table. I looked over at him, then down when he clacked his talons again, and found that his talons were framing a small pool of blood. Not enough to even fill a cup, maybe more like a few thimblefuls, but still concerning.

Then he leaned forward and tapped his beak against the skin right under my nose.

Slowly, I brought a hand up and dabbed at the same spot, and frowned as I felt something other than skin, something dry. I rubbed at the spot, then pulled my hand back to see ruddy flakes of dried blood sticking to my finger.

"Oh," I said. I'd had a nosebleed during the night. A moderately severe one, going by the quantity of blood. I guess the complications with Bonea were starting.

"One minute!" I yelled. I stood up shakily, grabbed a washcloth, soaked it up, and moved back to the table. I pushed the Accords aside with my elbow, then got to scrubbing the table clean. I didn't get it all out, but I was primarily just worried about the surface layer. Dried blood, particularly blood that had soaked into something else, was useless thaumaturgically. After I washed up the table, I scrubbed hard above and around my mouth, then tossed the washcloth over into the "sink" area.

Someone was in the middle of pounding against the door when I finally took down the wards and pulled it open sharply, their hand passing through the threshold and narrowly missing my nose. The knocker turned out to be Salazar, whose look of irritation turned into one of confusion as he saw me. Helga and Rowena, standing behind him, skipped right past confusion into concern. Which told me I really didn't look good.

I stood there for a moment, sorting my thoughts out, then shook my head and stepped back. "Come in," I said gruffly.

"Harry, is everything alright?" Helga asked.

"No," I said, before going back into the main room and slumping into a chair. It took a few moments for the others to follow me, one of them closing the front door behind them. None of them missed the spot of wet table and dried blood as they went to sit down.

Rowena frowned at me and furrowed her brow, while Helga upgraded her look to be one of alarm. Before she could say anything though, Guy popped his head out of his nest - he'd gone back to it at some point - and trilled out a welcome.

Everyone stopped, blinked, and looked at him as he did that, except me. Salazar in particular looked dumbfounded.

"Is that a phoenix?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, too tired to take any amusement or schadenfreude from his reaction.

He looked between me and Guy a few times in rapid succession, eyes wide, then let out a long and vaguely disgusted sigh. "Of course. It fits you perfectly. You end up with the one companion that's too stupid to know when it should die."

"Salazar, be quiet."

Salazar and Helga both turned to look at Rowena in surprise, while Rowena just kept staring at me, eyes narrowed. It was rather unnerving, especially since I could tell it meant she was checking out my emotional state. Finally, after another few seconds of that, she shook her head slightly and leaned back.

"Did someone die?" she asked. "Elfleda?"

I snorted and laughed bitterly, hard enough to double over. "Yeah," I said, my voice uneven. "You could say that."

"What happened?" Helga asked.

I took a deep breath. "Turns out that she was Mab all along," I said.

No one had a response to that. None of them seemed to know how to react to it - Rowena with concern, Helga with horror, and Salazar with something I couldn't quite make out.

"She arranged events to get me here," I said, my voice starting to crack. "And I came to trust her, to like her, to... and it was all a lie. Some demented shellgame to finally have sex with me." I snorted and shook my head. "Well, she got what she wanted, the bitch."

Surprisingly, it was Salazar who replied first. Even more surprisingly, he said it in a conciliatory and sympathetic tone, two adjectives I'd never thought to associate with him. "It gets easier. The loss."

I shot him a glare but managed to bite down my immediate response. He wasn't trying to be snarky or an ass, he was trying to help. Not very well, but trying. I swallowed, took a deep breath, and composed myself. "I know, Salazar. It's only my fifth or sixth time going through something like this."

Okay, so maybe I didn't manage to be that polite.

I frowned as Helga stood up in response to that, and frowned further as she moved around the table towards me. I finally realized what she was aiming for when she opened her arms and hugged me. She was so short and I was so tall she didn't even need to bend down to do it properly.

I stiffened in response, and at first I tried to wriggle out. But she had height and leverage on me and had already trapped my arms, so the only alternative was to try and stand up, which would have left her hanging off me like a limpet. Funny image in retrospect, but not something I wanted in the moment.

My eyes watered, and I swallowed.

"We can delay a few days if you need," she said. "Or go on ahead."

I shook my head and slowly managed to extricate myself. "No. No, we go today, and get this over with."

Helga glanced over at Rowena, and something passed between them. Then Helga moved away for a moment, only to drag a chair over to sit right next to me.

"Alright. You have a phoenix and I have a thousand questions, but most can wait," she said. "Why today?"

I leaned over, grabbed the Accords, and pulled them closer to me, flipping the book closed as I did so. Then I turned it around so everyone could see and read the cover.

"The Unseelie Accords?" Helga read. "How do you have a copy? Why do you have a copy?"

"You know what they are?" I asked.

"Vaguely. I heard about them while I was in Constantinople," she replied.

"Salazar, Rowena, you know what these are?" I asked.

"I do," Salazar said, at the same time as Rowena said, "No."

"Okay, well, to give a very high-level summary, these are essentially an attempt at establishing a formal set of rules for interactions between major supernatural powers. I checked the book, and so far it looks like the signatories are the White Council, the Faerie Courts, the Tylwyth Teg, Svartalfheim, the Archive, and the Denarians, though they've signed under 'The Knights of the Coin' like a bunch of imitators."

"The Fallen?" Helga asked. "Why would they sign?"

"It would provide them with a paper shield to hide behind when necessary and dispose of when convenient," Salazar said.

"Yeah, that," I said. "There are a few groups that haven't signed though, one of them being the White Court."

Salazar snorted. "And why would they? They're one of the two most preeminent groups in Europe. Perhaps the most powerful, after the Council's recent troubles."

I frowned, but didn't linger on that. "Well, Mab doesn't like that they rejected her," I said.

Salazar frowned and looked down at the Accords, while Rowena looked thoughtful. "She made her last request of you?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said. "Get the White King to sign."

"A tall task," Salazar noted. "How do you plan to accomplish it?"

"As it so happens, Gauthier Renouth called a meet of the White Court," I said. "In his castle, in France. One that's going on today." I cracked my neck. "I figured we'd drop by and crash the party. With you at the head."

Salazar frowniered his frown. "Why me?"

"You have a basilisk, don't you?" I asked. "And you loved your wife."

Salazar narrowed his eyes until they were as wide as slits, and he looked between me and Helga before letting out a sigh. "I do not see how that's relevant."

"Do you know what the Raiths are weak to?" I asked.

"Love," he replied. "A difficult emotion to muster at any given moment."

"Yeah, but there's another quirk," I said. "Selfless love lingers, especially after moments of close physical intimacy. It forms a kind of barrier, protection. So long as you haven't been with anyone since, sexually..."

Salazar shook his head slowly.

"Then it's still there. And it means that the White King, who is a Raith, and all his family and attendants, can't touch you, can't control you, can't feed on you. That makes you a great pointman."

"I see," he said. "How do you know this?"

"I had a vampire friend way back when," I said. "He gave me the inside scoop on the White Court, the Raiths in particular. How they operated, how they fed, how their Hunger worked, what it was weak to... everything."

"And what happened to this... friend?"

"He's dead, like everyone else I knew," I said. "So?"

"I can see the advantages, assuming you are correct," he said. "But there is a slight problem."

"What?" I asked.

"I don't know French," he said. "Any dialect of it."

I blinked. "Wait, really?"

"Never bothered to learn it," he replied.

"Uh... huh," I said. "But you know Latin, right?"

"Obviously," he scoffed.

"Then that'll have to be enough. I can't see the White King not knowing some Latin; the White Court came from the same region as the Romans, probably spread on the back of their republic and empire," I said.

"Perhaps. You have _Amoracchius_, do you not?" he asked.

I grimaced. "I don't think that's a good idea, after last night. Not for me."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because I was an inch away from breaking it cutting out Mab's heart," I said.

Salazar's eyes widened.

"So no, I'm not picking up that blade ever again. Unless you'd care to?" i asked.

He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow in thought. "...no. No, I don't believe I should. Ignoring that I may not be able to wield it properly, the last time I even touched a sword was well over a century ago. I'd look like an idiot just holding it."

"So there you have it," I said. "No sword."

"That poses a significant problem, then," he said.

"Why? You have a basilisk, don't you?" I asked.

"I do," he said. "But I have no effective way to wield him in a prolonged confrontation. He's simply too large to fit through any stable Way except through a dedicated ritual or in a location I have already prepared. The best I can manage is a brief opening for him to strike, but that lasts a matter of seconds and can be tiring to reuse. Which is why I asked about _Amoracchius_, because without it I do not know if we have a way to... encourage the White King to sign a document he doesn't care to."

"Crap," I said. "There goes that idea."

"It's not a concern," Rowena said. "Neither is the lack of Excalibur."

"Why?" I asked, looking in her direction.

She hummed thoughtfully and looked down at the table. "Do you need this table, or like it?"

"Uhm... it's... a table," I said. "There's nothing special about it. I can always fix it or get a new one. Why do you ask?"

Rowena nodded, pulled out her wand, and with a few gestures and muttered words made the candles and Accords float. Then she reached into her robes with her other hand and pulled out a small, slightly curved, single-edged knife made out of some dark, glassy material. With it in hand, she leaned forward and stabbed the table. And even though that really shouldn't have done much of anything, besides maybe chip the knife, the moment the glassy tip hit the wood, the table split in half widthwise and collapsed.

"This is the athame of Morgana LeFay," Rowena said. "My heirloom. It's been used in many workings over the years and as a result has become an object of Power in and of itself. I've used it for a number of purposes over the decades, and it's very versatile and potent tool. But at its core, this is an athame. A ritual knife." She pulled it back and gestured to the split table.

"It cuts."

* * *

Author's Note: I'm a bit surprised no one guessed this earlier.

Also, before anyone gets started, no, there's no Nemesis involved here. Just get that out of the way right from the start, I don't care to have anyone going crazy about it and running off after a wild conspiracy goose.


	84. Chapter 6-XII

**November 1070**

"_Uuuggghhh_..."

Helga's long groan of resignation was a thing of legend, something that deserved to be captured on tape and replayed for centuries to come. Too bad I could never get a recorder to work around me.

"Am I the only normal one here?" she demanded once she was done.

"Seems so," I said in a distracted tone. The athame wasn't as obvious about its power as _Amoracchius_ was; it didn't blaze with light or set my teeth to chattering. But now that I knew there was something to look for, I could feel a sense of tension in the air, like a spring stretched and stretched until it was the breaking point.

"That's... new," I continued, also processing the fact that apparently Bonea's delivery was going to involve a lot more knifing and trepanning than I felt comfortable with. "But what can that actually do for us, in concrete terms?"

"Simply put, I can open a stable Way large enough for Salazar's basilisk to fully emerge," she said. "Or to keep his head peeking out, if that's all we wish. It should also make me less useless in a fight."

"Useless?" I asked.

"The only time I have ever really used evocations, actually fought, was against Ursiel. And my contribution there amounted to throwing a number of stakes at him. We won't have the time to prepare similar projectiles amidst the White Court," she said. "And carrying them with us isn't a solution either."

"Then wouldn't it be more useful in my hands, or Salazar's?" I asked. "Since we have combat experience? Or Helga's, though I'm not sure how much you have."

"Before Ursiel it was all... small enemies," Helga said. "I can handle myself, guard us, obstruct the vampires, but you and Salazar are just better at actually fighting."

"Agreed. Now, if you had weeks or months to grow accustomed to how to use the athame safely, I would allow one of you to wield it for this occasion," Rowena said. "But we don't have that time, and it would not be a good idea for you to wield it unprepared. The athame can magnify the potency of spells and rituals, but it is not always exactly consistent and the result can be both dangerous and difficult to control. You'd be as likely to kill us as you would the vampires. More, perhaps."

"Okay, so, not that." I frowned as something came to me, and asked, "Wait. When you were testing the... ley line insertion, did you cut into them with the athame?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that incredibly dangerous?" I asked incredulously. "Like, 'blow up a shire and everything in it' dangerous?"

"Yes. Which is why I have said I am the only one who can do it; I know how to not cause an explosion of power that would destroy everything for miles," she said.

I blinked and leaned back in my chair. "Wow. That's crazy, but also impressive."

"Indeed. It makes me think we may actually come out of this alive," Salazar said.

I shot him a look. "What do you mean?"

He sighed. "Your plan, simple as it is, supposes we walk into a convocation of vampires and threaten the White King. That is not something we would survive if we did not have an edge. Preferably multiple."

"Then why are you going ahead with this?" I asked.

"Because your actions have already set us against the White Court, so we have little choice," he said. "At least this way we know where they are meeting, in force, where they are not prepared for our arrival. And if we do fall, our combined death curses will devastate the White Court and leave them vulnerable for the Council. Though I would obviously prefer to avoid such a fate."

"That's morbid."

"It's practical," he insisted. "The White Court congregates only rarely precisely to avoid a strike like the one we're planning. If we had the time I would go to Constantinople and try to rally more support, but... well, it's your task. Do you believe we have the time?"

I scratched the stubble on my chin. "Hard to say. Mab said the formal meeting was supposed to start tonight. How long it'll go on, how long it'll take to get there, that I don't know. How long would it take to go to Constantinople and find others willing to walk into vampire central with us?"

"At least... two days, and that is with the Edinburgh-Constantinople Way you mentioned to me," he said.

"It works? I mean, it still exists?"

"It does."

I rubbed my temples, thinking. "Okay... so, let's be optimistic. Unwarranted assumption, I know, but let's work with it. Two days to gather support. If Mab expected me to crash the party tonight, then call it about a day, in terms of mortal time, to get there. So at best, we'd arrive there three days later." I sighed. "I don't think it's going to last that long."

"Then we do it alone," Salazar said. "But none of this matters if we cannot get there in time. And I do not know the Ways to this Gauthier's castle. Do you?"

"No," I said. "But I know someone who can get us there. Two people, in fact."

There was a brief pause there, as they tried to figure out what I meant, and then Helga hesitantly asked, "...the vampires? How can they help?"

"Because the Renouths are vampires," I said. "They've got more of a connection to the Nevernever than a regular person, or a wizard or witch. Not as good as a faerie's, but they can instinctively navigate it to a limited degree. Unlike us, who have to work a lot harder at it. It's how I got to York from Berkhamsted on my first try without knowing any of the stops in between. I forged a link between twin sister and twin brother and followed Lucille through the Ways. In this instance, I won't need to forge a link; Renouth Castle, or whatever it's actually called, is the place these two grew up in. The place these two learned they were vampires. The place they ran away from. They can find it again."

"Are you certain?" Rowena asked.

"Well, Mab said so. I suppose she could've been yanking my chain, but I don't think she lied about this," I replied, a degree of anger leaking into my voice as I said her name.

"You propose that we put a pair of vampires at our backs while we go to face down the White Court?" Salazar asked. "Are you mad?"

"No. Just confident they're runaways," I said. "But if it makes you feel better we can leave them in the Nevernever." I looked at Salazar's nose. "So?"

He let out a long sigh and grudgingly nodded. 

* * *

The three of them left soon after that, going back to where the Berkhamsted Forest Way opened up. Helga said she would wait for me by the edge of the forest and then guide me in. In the meantime, I had a few people to speak to.

Eva was first on my list. I had to explain a few things for her, and arrange something in the event of my death. I'd screwed up that step with Molly and left her exiled and hunted; I wasn't about to repeat the same mistake with Eva.

It took a bit of questioning, but I was finally directed to her room. When she let me in however, I found she wasn't alone. On the other side of the room, sitting in a chair, was Elfleda. She wasn't wearing the necklace I'd given Mab.

I froze once I saw her, shocked. The air grew... warm. That threw me for a loop, and her greeting completed the discombobulation.

"Wizard Dresden," she said politely, and with a slight quaver to her voice.

I pursed my lips. "You're the changeling," I said slowly.

"Indeed I am," she replied.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. "You were supposed to stay away from Eva."

"You forbade the Queen and her court from involving themselves with Eva," she said. "I am no longer of the Winter Court."

I furrowed my brow. "What?"

"I am free now. Unbound. Wyld," she replied. "And I mean neither you nor dear Eva any harm."

"Then what are you doing here?" I demanded.

"I was explaining to her what had happened," she said.

I looked over at Eva. She looked lost, afraid. She sat on her bed, her body language closed in, closer to me than Elfleda. When she saw me looking at her though, she slowly nodded.

"I'm... I'm alright," she said. "I just don't understand."

"You were a bystander in a plot that progressed far past the point of sanity, Eva. Once again, I apologize for deceiving you. But I think that right now your master is in a rush, so any further discussion is going to have to wait." Elfleda straightened her posture and shifted to look at me.

I stared at her. "Who are you, really?"

"I am Elfleda. Not the name my father gave me, but the one I've adopted. I've used it for a century now."

I frowned. "You don't look older than thirty."

"One of the benefits of being an undecided changeling," she replied. "I don't age, not really. I look the same now as I did when I was twenty."

My frown deepened. "You've been a changeling for a century?"

"Thereabouts."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because I do not wish to be mortal and powerless and helpless, but I don't wish to be like my mother either," she replied. "Being a changeling affords me a degree of freedom and luxury I wouldn't possess as a lone, orphaned, and landless noblewoman. But that meant I was forced to associate with the Winter Court, to deal with them from a position of weakness. So I sold my services. I am capable of glamours, veils, illusions, of seeing emotions, and perhaps most importantly, of acting convincingly, of lying. That made me invaluable to certain elements in the Court. Necessary for certain deceptions." She took a deep breath. "I never imagined the Queen would take such an interest in me. But when she did, when she described the task, I saw it as an opportunity."

"To lie to me," I said.

"That was the essence of the task, yes," she replied. "You must understand, at the time I did not know you, and I did not particularly care about you. What I cared about is what the Queen agreed to during negotiations: to be severed from all my responsibilities to the Winter Court. To be free." She fell silent for a second, and in a quieter voice added, "I imagine you can understand that draw."

I let out a long, long sigh. "Yeah. I can," I said.

"I am sorry for what happened to you. The groundwork for the deception took six months, tricking Robert into accepting the Queen's aid, altering memories in ways that got the court to accept the persona of Elfleda Aldrich as one that had been around for years. That was followed by the months spent building up a consistent routine and place for Lady Aldrich so that you wouldn't find her presence or lack of firm history suspicious, though I don't believe you ever went looking. Then Timothée was sent out, and you were brought in. From there I imagined it would be the work of weeks or months to build enough interest to lure you into bed, and that would be it. I certainly did not plan to be in this role for so long, or for the deception to progress as it did. I thought it extremely unwise, that it could not last, and that you would react poorly when the truth finally came out. I told the Queen as much. She never listened. When she came to me last night and concluded our arrangement, I knew I had guessed correctly."

"How did you keep your stories straight?" I asked. "I mean, you were switching back and forth, right?"

"We were. The Queen would take my memories when she took on the role of Elfleda, and would return them, along with whatever new ones she had accumulated that were relevant to the role, once I stepped back in. Now that the arrangement is over, I remember only parts. Your lessons, shorn of any interactions with you or Eva or any emotional significance therein. My time at court. My guardianship of Eva. As for the times when my physical presence was inconvenient, I was provided a small home in town, as well as a Portkey that bridged that home and my room in the castle. When traveling, I glamoured and veiled myself and hid as another servant, with the Queen's aid."

I shook my head. Of course Mab would take Elfleda's memories; wouldn't want me commiserating with her, after all. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because I very much don't want to be the victim of your righteous fury," she said. "And the easiest way to do that, as I see it, is to cooperate fully. I don't agree with what happened to you, what she did, but I was under a geas to act the part; I was powerless to stop it, to do anything contrary. She dictated practically everything regarding how to act around you. The only real freedom I had in my role, past the particulars of how to play the court, was how to look after Eva. And I must say, I came to enjoy that role. So many of my tasks have involved acts of cruelty that the job of looking after Eva and her brother, of teaching them, was a relief. And more, it was fun. But now it is likely over."

I stared at Elfleda. After a year of hearing her, that voice, speak in a fae-like manner, the directness coming from her then was unnerving. "Yeah," I said. "I don't think I can see... be around you anymore."

"I understand. It won't be difficult to fake my death, or arrange my departure," she replied. "If Eva weren't a consideration I'd also ruin the standing of the Aldrich persona to lessen the blow to you, but since I must worry about Eva's own standing I must be more careful regarding how I end the masquerade. I estimate that it will take a few weeks at most, to put everything in order. But I do have one final offer for you, while you are here."

"What's that?" I asked warily.

"You are going off to fight the White Court," she said. "You need someone to watch over Eva, to take care of her, temporarily or not, should you fail. I can do that."

"Can you? Really?"

"I am not much of a fighter, admittedly. Even a century of practice has only brought me so far, my power being what it is. But I am, to put it simply, an excellent deceiver. If Eva is threatened, I can disguise her, take her to safety. Make it so that she can't be found. I can't protect her family in the same way, but I assume you have a plan for that."

"I have an idea," I said, and turned to look at Eva. "What about you? Do you want that, her... protection?"

"Will I need it?" Eva asked quietly.

"You might," I said. "I'd like to say you wouldn't, but I can't guarantee I'll come back from this, and I don't know when or even if another wizard might find you. Soon, I hope, I plan to send a letter to put things in motion in case I and my friends all die. But..."

Eva swallowed and breathed out through her nose. "I... this is so complicated."

"I know, and I'm sorry," I said.

"I..." She looked over at Elfleda and took a deep breath. "I'll stay with her. Until you come back."

I nodded and looked over at Elfleda. "Swear on your power that you'll keep her safe, until either I come back or a man called Rashid comes to figure things out with Eva."

"My word isn't enough?"

"You just said you're a deceiver," I pointed out. "And that your job was to lie."

Elfleda's lips twitched. "True enough." She stood up and took a deep breath. "I swear on my power that I will keep Eva Hildasdottir safe until your return, or Rashid arrives for Eva."

I turned her statement over in my head, then nodded. "Alright." I stood there for a few seconds, unsure what to say. "I get what you did, and why. And... I guess I'm grateful for some of it. But all the same, I never want to see you again."

"I understand. I'll stay out of your way once you return," she said. "And I'm confident you will."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because while I do not remember much of you anymore, I know enough to say that you won't let a mild obstacle like death stop you from keeping your word."

That managed to draw a faint snort out of me. "That's more true than you know."


	85. Chapter 6-XIII

**November 1070**

I wrote a letter to Rashid after that, and sent Elric on his way. I doubted the owl would go directly to the Gatekeeper, that seemed incredibly unlikely, but I figured a guy like him would be able to set up some kind of magical PO box for owls. My hope was that if things did go south, then Rashid could respond somewhat quickly. Maybe not immediately in person, but somehow. As you can tell from the fact that I'm writing this, that turned out to not be necessary, so I won't spend any more time on the letter.

The Renouths were the next stop on my list. After burning their dad to a crisp down in Maine, we'd done away with the appointments rule. Benefits of being the subject of both their trust and abject terror. But that didn't mean arranging a meeting was exactly fast. I found Tim first, out show-practicing in the courtyard. I'm not sure if he just enjoyed the attention or if he could somehow feed off it, but he seemed to show off a lot. I told him I needed to see him and his sister, fast, and he told me to wait for them in a secluded section of the castle, a little used storage room.

It took fifteen minutes for the twins to show up, time I spent chewing on the question of Elfleda. I didn't want to be around her, and I didn't exactly know her. But she'd seemed sincere and scared of me when confessing, and I believed that she cared about Eva, to some degree. I knew I wanted her to leave, I just didn't know if I wanted to keep in touch with her. Maybe offer her a job later. She was a good impersonator.

And I just realized that Mab was the one who had gone to talk to Odo. No wonder she'd asked about a "gift."

The moment the twins closed the door of the storage room behind them, I said in Etruscan, "I'm going to kill your father tonight."

That brought them up short. Tim blinked and stared, while Lucille looked a mix of confused and enthused. "That is good news," she said slowly. "I think."

"And I need your help to do it," I continued.

"Ah," Lucille said. "That explains it. How can I help?"

"You remember how we got to York?" I asked.

"...ah. Is this... truly necessary?" she asked.

"Yeah. But don't worry; this trip won't be as exciting," I said.

"I thought you said Faerie was hostile to you. What changed?"

"The Queen that was barring me from the Ways held them back until I had sex with her. Then last night she raped me and asked me to do something for her," I said curtly. "So that changed."

The twins both frowned. "You went out with Elfleda," Tim said. "And came back a little battered. What happened?"

"Take a wild guess," I replied acerbically. "What's your first coherent memory of Elfleda?"

"She was already at Robert's court when we attached ourselves five years ago," Lucille said.

"Do you remember meeting her? Talking to her? What did you say? Or do you just have a vague recollection that you met her?" I asked.

Lucille frowned.

"The first detailed conversation you remember about her. The first detailed interaction. How long ago was it?" I asked.

"Two years ago," Tim said slowly. "It was the third time I had... made advances. She told me I was too pale for her and to spend more time out in the sun."

"Really?" Lucille asked, and Tim nodded. Then she looked over at me. "He's not much more tan than you."

I ignored Lucille's comment and addressed her question. "That's because prior to about two years ago, Elfleda Aldrich did not exist. She's a fabrication, planted here to snare me." My lips curled into a snarl. "It succeeded."

"But I remember her being here earlier," Lucille said.

"False memories. Probably not even that, just impressions. Did she ever actually do anything in those supposed first three years, anything notable, memorable?" I asked.

Tim and Lucille slowly shook their heads after a few seconds. "And now you are going to kill my father for this... Queen?" Lucille asked.

"No. I'm going to kill your father because he attacked me and mine. I'm going to do it while crashing a meeting of the White Court because that's the way I get rid of her," I replied.

"A meeting," Lucille repeated.

"With the King, and probably all the higher ups," I said.

"That sounds dangerous."

"It is. Which is why I'm not asking you to do anything more than guide us, me and my friends, through the Nevernever," I said.

Lucille sighed. "How? Through another glove?"

"No. The meeting is being held at your father's castle. Your family home."

Lucille worked her jaw in response. "And you believe we can lead you there."

"I do. So does the Queen, and she can't speak a falsehood," I said. "And if it turns out you can't, then you can't. I bring you back and we look for another way."

Lucille nodded and folded her hands together. "Much of the White Court is going to be there, you say."

"At least the important ones, from what I've gathered," I replied.

"And you believe you can... what? What is your goal?" she asked.

"I need to force the White King to sign a document," I said. "I expect that's going to be messy, and violent. That's the way things usually go for me with these kinds of jobs."

"The White King," Lucille said slowly. "I do not know much about him, but from what I remember Father never wished to cross him. And you do."

I shrugged. "I want to be free. I want to stop the White Court from coming after me. I need the recognition that would come from telling the White King to sit down and shut up. And I think we stand a decent chance of it. Four angry wizards and witches, one phoenix, one giant snake that kills with a glance. Yeah."

"No sword?" Lucille asked.

"No," I replied. "It requires a very... particular mindset to use. One I can't muster anymore."

"Why not?"

"Because it needs to be wielded out of compassion. Love. If you try to use it out of anger or hatred it's worthless," I replied, more heat in my voice than I wanted.

Lucille furrowed her brow. "Then how did you wound my father?"

I looked away, at the wall, and didn't say anything for a while. "You two remind me of my brother," I said quietly.

"Your brother?" Lucille asked.

"The vampire I told you about. The one who told me everything."

Lucille's eyes widened. "You had a vampire for a brother?"

"Yeah. Half-brother, admittedly, but the distinction didn't really matter after I found out. He was older. My mother was caught up with a Raith. Had him, then had a change of heart. I loved him. Like a brother. Which I realize doesn't actually say much considering some White Court practices, but I mean that in a purely familial sense. He tried to be better. He... was better."

"What happened to him?" Tim asked.

"He was captured, and tortured. Hurt to the point of madness, then given a woman. He drained her until she died. Rinse, lather, repeat," I said dully. "It broke him." I looked at Lucille. "Like I figure it would've broken you."

"And then he died," she said.

"And then he died," I lied. "Yeah. I did it for his memory, and to protect your ability to choose. To be. But I can't... I can't muster that anymore. There's too much hate right now. And you hate your father to a degree I can't entirely connect with, understand, and none of my friends want to wield it either, so that's that. No Sword."

"What about me?" Tim asked.

We both turned to look at him, Lucille and I. He rolled his eyes. "Come now, sister, I know exactly what you're thinking. You want to be there to watch father die if not kill him yourself, tear down everything he's worked for, and maybe piss on his grave too. You've already decided to go, you're just wondering if you'll survive."

Lucille gave Tim the kind of annoyed look you'd give a sibling who said something that was entirely on point, but in a dickish way.

"And I don't truly care as much about Father as you, either way. I care about you." Tim turned to face me. "So?"

"I... it... might work," I said. "It also might refuse to let you draw it. Or just burn your hand clean off if it feels you're not an appropriate wielder."

He frowned and took a half-step back. "It can think?" he asked.

"It can judge," I replied. "Not quite the same thing. You can try and draw it if you want, and we can see what happens. Who knows, maybe you'll take it off me."

"And if I can't?"

"Then we do this with no Sword," I said. "I was going to do that anyway."

Tim looked over at Lucille and arched an eyebrow. She sighed with sisterly contempt. "Fine, _Tim_."

Tim winced.

"How long will this take?" Lucille asked, turning to face me. "In terms of how much time will pass... out here."

"Pessimistically, I'd plan around a few days," I replied.

"Then I need to make excuses for the both of us," she said, glancing at Tim. "I expect it to take an hour, two at the worst. Shall I meet the two of you at your house?" The _your _there was directed towards me.

"Meet us at the edge of the woods," I said. "That's where we'll be heading into the Ways. Assuming you can get out of town."

"It should be trivial," she said.

We split up after that, Lucille going off to schmooze and cover for the both of them, Tim went to get his gear, and I went back to my place. I'd just made it to my front door when he caught up with me in full panoply, a long cloak concealing his armaments.

I left him in my foyer, then went back upstairs to my bedroom for the first time since Mab. The rime had long since disappeared and the water had alternately soaked into everything or dried up. _Amoracchius_ was right where I'd tossed it, its scabbard laying where it had fallen after I'd drawn the Sword. I noticed the scabbard wasn't remotely wet or even stained, like everything else in the room. The rime must not have formed over it.

I sheathed _Amoracchius_, refusing to handle it by the hilt, and took it downstairs. I left it in the main room, on a chair - my table was still broken in two, and the unlit candles and Accords had been moved over to the shelves. I'd fix it when I got back. I packed a few potions, primarily for aftercare, though there were two meant for use beforehand. One gave me the strength of a horse. The other was experimental, new. The idea had been to try and deaden emotions, make it so I couldn't be influenced by a vampire. I hadn't tested it, and I wasn't sure about its effects, but I packed it anyway. Then I took my staff, packed my blasting rod, strapped Snickers to my waist, put the Accords into one of my pockets, slung my bag over my shoulder, and took _Amoracchius_ by the scabbard.

Tim was still waiting for me in the foyer, looking at my coat hangers. "These are ingenious," he said. "Simple, and yet I don't believe I've ever actually seen any before."

"I'm an innovator," I said. "Simple solutions for irritating, everyday problems." I held _Amoracchius_ out to him, hilt first. "Moment of truth."

He looked at it with a substantial, understandable degree of nervousness. "Would a glove or gauntlet help?" he asked, glancing up at me.

"No," I replied.

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Very well." Slowly, Tim reached out with his right hand, fingers hovering over the hilt. He held that pose for a few seconds, then closed them all at once with the speed of a viper.

Nothing happened, and nothing continued to happen as Tim slowly drew the Sword out and out of its scabbard. My teeth didn't start chattering once he pulled it all the way out, but the hairs on the back of my neck did stand up.

"Looks like it works," I said quietly, surprised.

I should have taken that as a sign of good things. That regardless of whatever had happened to me, whatever I'd done, I'd helped someone, fixed something. Tim and Lucille were genuinely brother and sister again, because of me and what I did. But the moment passed all too quickly for me, and at the time I could only think of the way all those vampires would react when Tim drew that Sword.

"Now put it back and let's go," I said. "Walking around with a naked blade, particularly a holy sword like that, is a great way to grab attention."

"Why would I not want attention?" he asked.

"The 'hellish, demonic bear and all its friends' kind of attention."

"Ah, I see. Yes, going unremarked seems the better idea."


	86. Chapter 6-XIV

**November 1070**

Tim walked out with a sword on either side of his hip, both concealed under his cloak. Guy wasn't as easy to hide, and so I left him perched on my shoulder. We made for quite the sight as we passed through town and set off for the edge of Berkhamsted Forest, where Helga lingered in owl form, sitting up on a high branch. I told her we were still waiting for Lucille, and we ended up waiting another half hour before Lucille arrived, dressed much the same way as when she'd come to York with me - man's tunic, pants, heavy cloak, hood up, sword on her hip.

"Alright, Helga, let's go," I said.

Helga led us through the woods, on a straight shot towards its depths. I got the feeling we were being watched at one point, and tried to spot the centaurs that were probably responsible for it, but all I saw were trees and leaves and dirt.

After a bit of walking Helga swooped down to the ground and transformed back into her small, regular self, a minute before we came across Rowena and Salazar standing in a small clearing. Salazar greeted us first with a welcoming tine.

"So the vampires are joining us after all," he drawled.

"Timothy, Lucille, this is my buddy Sal," I said. "As you can see he's not a very nice guy."

Salazar eadriced in my direction, then spun away and took a few steps forwards. "Close your eyes," he said firmly.

"Better do what he says," I said to the twins, then closed my eyes myself.

I felt more than heard Salazar opening a rift into the Nevernever, followed by him hissing in some inhuman language. Once he was done hissing, he switched back to English and said, "Open your eyes now, and come. We should be on our way."

The rift Salazar had opened on the other side of the clearing was man-sized, but there was a suggestion of something huge and scaled on the other side. Helga and Rowena went in first, followed by me, and then the twins. Incidentally, that meant that when I stopped upon crossing over, the twins bumped into me and pushed me a step forward, before stopping themselves.

And staring, slackjawed.

"When you said a giant snake," Lucille said slowly, "I expected something less... _this_."

"To be honest, so did I," I said.

The Nevernever here wasn't remarkable beyond two things: being a seemingly endless plain, and being occupied by something far more interesting - a basilisk. And I have to admit, my mental image of Salazar's basilisk had been rather wrong up until that point. I knew it was large enough to kill and eat Ursiel, but I thought it had bitten and dragged the demonic bear back into the Nevernever, where it had then eaten it piecemeal. That wasn't the case.

See, Salazar's basilisk wasn't giant or huge. Ursiel was giant. A T-Rex was huge. This thing made Sue look like a child by comparison. He started with a head large enough to swallow Ursiel in a single go, crowned by a ridge of spikes and horns, and just kept going from there. His scaled, leathery skin was a vivid, poisonous green and just stretched and stretched and stretched, and I estimated his full length, from teeth to tail, to be something like a quarter of a football field, at least. His eyes, thankfully, were closed, but he was emitting this deep, bizarre growling sound as Salazar stood under its head and scratched his chin like the deathsnake was a cat. An enormous, venomous, murderous cat.

Salazar looked my way, and for once, I let the unbearably smug expression on his face slide. Guy, though, decided to warble challengingly, which made the snake shift his head slightly.

"Okay, Guy, that's enough," I said, patting him on the side. "Don't antagonize Blinky the Deathsnake."

Salazar narrowed his eyes poisonously. "Blinky?" he demanded.

"I mean, if the shoe fits..." I said.

He sighed with disgust and gestured towards the snake. "Just get on."

I nodded and headed in that direction, finding that about twenty feet down Blinky's length, a wooden platform made of stout, dark oak had been strapped to his back, barely large enough for the five of us. Helga and Rowena were already waiting there, pressed up against one side.

"The centaurs didn't give you any trouble about coming and going?" I yelled as I climbed up.

"They tried," Salazar replied as he climbed atop his basilisk's head. "I told them to repeat themselves to my basilisk. Curiously, none of them cared to."

"Yeah, that's mighty curious," I said.

"Quite. Where are we going?" he asked, taking a seat in the middle of the ridged crown atop his basilisk's head.

I glanced over at Tim and Lucille, who were occupying the opposite side of the platform, across from Helga and Rowena. "Can you get us to the general vicinity of mainland France?" I called. "You know, broadly speaking."

"I believe so."

"Then let's go there first, and start looking from there."

Salazar hissed something to his snake in response, and we all tightly grasped the edge of the platform as the basilisk jolted into motion, slithering and winding its way along the plain with surprising speed. It wasn't long before the plain transitioned into a sea of ice that somehow held firm despite the literal tons of weight that must have been pressing down on it.

Rowena was the first to notice something new about Tim, and she remarked on it plainly and simply - by asking, "Harry, why did you give the vampire Excalibur?"

Everyone on the platform, besides me and Rowena, blinked and looked at her, then at Tim's waist. Even Salazar turned around in shock, first looking at me with bewilderment before following everyone else's gaze.

My response was to sigh. "Because he can hold it," I said. "And as Salazar put it, we need every edge we can get. I doubt he's going to stop being a vampire any time soon, or that he's Knight material. But I figure he'll be fine for this one trip." I looked over at Tim then. "Don't go getting any funny ideas though, this doesn't make you King of England or anything."

Tim's mouth was in the process of relearning how words worked. Eventually, he managed to remember. "You had Excalibur?" he asked.

"_Had _being the operative word," I replied.

Helga was sputtering wordlessly and gesturing helplessly at the scabbard Tim was wearing on his left. She kept sputtering throughout the entire initial exchange, and when she finally was able to string a few words together, she blurted out, "But he's French!"

I looked her way. "And?"

"It's a British relic!"

"Actually it's a Sword of the Cross, which makes it pan-national," I replied. "Or maybe omni-national. Pan-cultural? Not sure how to put it. Also, aren't you a Saxon?"

"It's King Arthur!" Helga cried. "What does it matter?"

"Just saying," I said with a shrug.

"Sword of the Cross?" Tim asked, brushing his fingers along its pommel.

"One of the Nails that pinned Christ to his cross is welded to that blade," I explained. "That's part of what makes it so powerful."

"Huh," Tim said. His expression then grew curious, and he started glancing between Helga and the Sword.

"Keep it in your pants, Lancelot," I said dryly. "You can't use the Sword in the Stone as a conversation starter with women. It'll make you a eunuch faster than you could say 'uncle.'"

Tim took his hand off the pommel. "Really?" he asked.

"Just might," I replied.

"Excalibur isn't the Sword in the Stone," Rowena commented. "The Sword in the Stone was a mundane blade enchanted by Merlin to see who would be worthy of wielding Excalibur. Otherwise it wasn't a very remarkable sword."

"Can we focus on planning, please?" Salazar called from his position atop the basilisk's head.

I took a deep breath and nodded. "Planning. Right. Okay, so here's what we've got..."

It took us hours of traveling through the Ways to reach the approximate juncture for "mainland France." We spent much of that time hashing out our resources, our objectives, and how to use our resources to achieve those objectives. This discussion trailed off after we started following the Renouths' guessed directions, winding our way across rivers and valleys, plains and forests, before finally ending up in a hilly region covered with snow and dotted with trees.

During this time I started to brush my finger back and forth across my mother's ruby. I wanted to hear her voice again, as we went to do this, and since I wasn't responsible for leading anyone I had it on GPS mode just because. That turned out to be a stranger choice than I anticipated, because for once, as we got closer, I got a relevant real-time response from it, not that I realized it at first.

It went like this: "I knew the connection existed, but to actually experience it is remarkable. I haven't ever been to this section of the Nevernever before, or of France, and yet I'm traversing it as if I'd spent my life living here. I can feel him in my mind, his position burning like a lighthouse. Why had I never thought of coupling with a vampire before?"

I frowned as she said that, my hands tightening around the ruby. There was a moment of silence, and my mother's voice continued.

"Notation: I expected something more impressive and picturesque as the spiritual backdrop to Raith's retreat, not this wasteland. Still, it does have a certain frozen charm to it, and it is the winter retreat of the White King. That may be enough to shape this side."

My frown deepened.

"Notation _secundus_: there's a small circle of trees in the middle of these woods, the only grouping worthy of being called such. The exact location of the circle seems to shift, but the actual 'forest' itself is always atop a high hill. There is a large, jagged stone in the center of this circle. I've found that opening a rift upon this stone leads directly to the main hall, or throne room to be more dramatic. I am uncertain how to use this, but I think I can work it into something amusing."

I looked over the area we were moving through, panning my head. Tim and Lucille hesitantly called out directions, leading the snake this way and that, but I ignored them. I looked and looked until I found a small copse of trees ringing a hill larger than the one we were currently sliding over.

"Stop," I called out. Salazar hissed something to his basilisk, and the snake wound his head around the hill.

"It's somewhere close," Lucille said. "I can't be sure exactly."

"I know that," I said. "That's not why I said stop. I know this place."

Everyone looked my way at that, and Salazar asked, "How?"

"My mother," I said slowly. "She visited this place. Charted it."

"And you're only mentioning this now?" he asked.

"I didn't know until just now," I said.

Salazar's eyes narrowed, and he looked at the ruby I was palming. "Is that a Waystone?" he asked.

A Waystone, as I've learned, refers to what is essentially a map of the Ways. For stylistic, traditional reasons, these "maps" were recordings stored within a precious gemstone, though that wasn't strictly necessary.

"Yeah. My mother's," I said. Previously, I hadn't wanted to reveal the truth about my necklace, about my mother's ruby. But since there was a good chance I could have died in that meeting, I figured that it was a good idea to point it out. "She was here, at one point." I looked over at Tim and Lucille. "How long has your father had this castle? Or your family?"

Tim and Lucille looked at each other, frowning. "I am not certain," Tim replied. "But I know it wasn't ours originally. Father said as much."

I nodded and looked over at the woods on the other hill, then pointed. "We need to go there."

After a little more staring, Salazar turned around and hissed some more, the basilisk stirring into motion once again. We made our way over to the next hill, the basilisk's head crashing through the trees. A few seconds later he started turning and winding, and the platform we were on was pulled into a small clearing, the basilisk's body surrounding a small, jagged stone that looked vaguely like a throne.

I swallowed, suddenly very, very tense. "There. That stone. If we open a Way above it, it should spit us right out into the main hall, where all the vampires should be."

"Are you certain?" Salazar asked.

"Not entirely," I replied. "It could have changed. But I think so."

"Hmm." Salazar's basilisk slumped his head against the ground, and Salazar dismounted. We did the same, gingerly making our way off the platform. I exchanged a few words with Guy, and he grudgingly took off from my shoulder and went to perch on one of the basilisk's ridges. Meanwhile, the six of us moved to surround the stone.

I looked over at Tim and Lucille. "Last chance to back out," I said.

Lucille smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "My last chance was in Maine. This is just seeing it through." Beside her, Tim nodded.

"Okay." I slung my pack off my shoulder and took out the potions I'd put inside, handing them out. Salazar, Helga, and I took the potions meant for treating injuries, I downed the horse-strength potion, and the emotion deadening one went to Rowena. I'd explained everything about it to her, how I thought it worked, that it was untested, but she still popped the waterskin open, pulled it back, and drank.

Once it was done she gave the waterskin back to me with a grimace. "It tastes horrible," she said calmly. As I watched her face grew still, composed. Deadening one's emotions was a wizard was a risky proposition; magic required belief, and cold logic was rarely a good way to make it work. That was I wasn't taking it, or offering it to Helga. But Rowena seemed to think she wouldn't be as affected, and in a way she really needed it. She'd only been in danger twice before in her life, and only once had she been directly threatened. Considering the amount of power she was bringing to this fight, we couldn't afford for her to lose her cool, or for the vampires to subvert her. Otherwise I'd imagine we'd all have pretty quickly died to her athame.

We made one final check, prepared our foci, or drew our swords in the twins' case - Tim drew his regular sword, keeping _Amoracchius_ in reserve. Then I took a deep breath and nodded to Rowena. "Alright," I said. "Bring us in."

Rowena slashed diagonally with her athame, splitting the air above the stone and forming a dark, murky rift that swiftly grew large enough to fit Blinky's head, and then some. The rift cut through the rock and touched the ground, and we gathered on one side of it. Rowena had freely admitted to never having cared to refine her creation of Ways, which in this case played to our advantage. The opaque nature of the rift would leave people guessing about what else we might have hiding, and we wanted the basilisk and phoenix to be in reserve. Unpleasant surprises, as it were.

Though I had one of my own waiting inside.

Once we were all lined up side by side, my friends to my right, the twins to my left, I slammed my staff down on the ground, forcing an effort of will through it to focus the energy of the blow into a far smaller area than the end of the staff. It hit the frozen dirt, shattering a chunk the size of a big dinner platter with a detonation like thunder. We strode forward in that moment, passing from frozen forest into a cold, lavish, darkly lit hall, long and lined with ornate columns. Vampires milled about in groups throughout the chamber, though the ones closest to our rift were hurrying away. Servants in finely embroidered yet scant clothes lined the walls of the chamber, shirking back at our entrance. Directly before us, in the center of the room, stood one Gauthier Renouth.

He looked like he'd seen better days. His skin alternated between a ruddy pink and a puffy, angry red pockmarked with burn scars. He'd whirled to face us, eyes wide, and from his posture, he'd just been gesticulating and speaking.

Salazar gestured grandly with his wand, and six ethereal snakes glowing with a sick, green light slithered out around us, forming a dimly glowing, writhing, semicircular cordon.

"Gauthier Renouth!" Salazar bellowed in Latin, his voice taking on a sibilant, serpentine tone. "I am Salazar. For your actions against Harry Dresden, Rowena Ravenclaw, and those under their protection, for your foolishness in starting a blood-feud with the Council over a paltry manner, and for rank incompetence in pursuing it, we have come to deliver judgment." I slammed my staff down with a smaller boom, for emphasis, and as the clap of thunder faded, it left behind an absolute silence.

One that was, a few moments later, broken by a soft clap. I frowned and looked up at the sound, only to freeze as I saw its source.

On the other side of the hall, atop the raised dais that would normally hold a lord's throne, sat something far grander, an enormous chair of bone-white ivory. Its back flared out like the hood of a cobra, spreading out into an enormous crest decorated with all manner of eye-twisting carvings, all of them far too familiar. And upon that throne sat a man I never thought I would see again.

He was about six feet tall, dark of hair and pale of flesh, broad of shoulders and with eyes like a drowsy jaguar's. He was dressed in a senator's toga made out of fine white silk, a golden stole winding its way around his left shoulder. A ruby earring hung from one ear, sapphires flickered over the whole of his outfit, and a circlet of glittering silver stood out starkly against his raven hair. He was alone atop the dais, his posture relaxed and amused.

I recognized him. I _knew_ him. This was the man that had murdered my mother, that had tried to kill me and my brother. I thought he hadn't even been born yet.

I was wrong.

"What excellent timing," the Lord Raith said in fine, cultured Latin, drawing out every word as if to savor it. "Please, do go on."

* * *

Author's Note: You know, of all the things to forget, the basilisk's gender was not something I expected to come up. But apparently Salazar's basilisk is canonically female. And yet I've had Salazar call it a male. So, uh, let's just ignore that slight inconsistency and say Salazar somehow misidentified his basilisk.


	87. Chapter 6-XV

**November 1070**

I'm not sure how long I stared. It was probably just a few seconds but it seemed like hours. Blood pounded in my ears, and it felt like my heart was going to leap out of my chest. I hadn't expected him to be the White King, and once I saw him, it stirred up all kinds of emotion, fear and anger and hatred. The man was a monster, through and through. And worse, he may well have been a nigh-invincible monster, if his relative immunity to magic was not a recent development in my time.

He noticed me staring at him, and smiled. I thinned my lips into a line and tore my gaze away from him, focusing on Gauthier and the other vampires.

Now that I looked, I could see a clear division in the ranks, the Raiths all lined up along one side, dwarfing both the Skavis and Malvora, who stood in cliques along the other side. There were maybe fifty, sixty vampires in all. Blandine was near the front of the Raiths, standing close to Gauthier. I didn't spot anyone like Lara, or any of her sisters or cousins. Small mercies, that.

A moment later Gauthier snarled and whirled to face the White King, spouting off rapid-fire Etruscan. "See, even now they come to threaten us!"

"Just you, dear cousin," Raith replied in Latin. "And I find I am intrigued by their accusations. I would like to hear what the kine consider to be rank incompetence."

"Thank you," Salazar said with a passable amount of sincerity, before looking at Gauthier. "You sent your servants alone to our domain with little guidance. While there they accomplished little, and in their last week bungled everything. Your niece attacked Lady Ravenclaw, an unrelated party, in person and in her tower, and barely made it a hundred feet from the door before dying like a dog. In the same stroke you lost the one thrall that could have, perhaps, killed Wizard Dresden. And after failing so utterly, you decided to compound your incompetence, tasking a group of mortal thralls with killing a wizard, a task they failed at so spectacularly they did not even get close to him before they were routed. It is amazing that you are even capable of speech with a mind so simple."

Gauthier glared in our direction hatefully, and I saw Salazar's lips curl into a smile. "Do you deny these accusations?" Salazar asked with poisonous sweetness.

Salazar's words were deliberately inflammatory. Gauthier obviously couldn't just accept them, because Salazar had just called him a blithering idiot. Denying all knowledge of it meant that he either was too weak to control his assets, or was so infirm that an enemy of his had managed to pull off a perfect frame job without him knowing. His only option was to try and pick apart our statement somehow, or to sidestep it entirely. I wasn't sure he could manage either of those, really.

Ultimately, Gauthier tried to pivot. It was his best option, if not a good one. As far as the rest of the White Court were concerned, even if we were lying our asses off, we'd just utterly humiliated Gauthier in front of a crowd. He needed a miracle to come back from this, and one wasn't coming.

He switched to Latin to respond, as Raith had set the tone by speaking in Latin, but it was clearly unpracticed. It was actually so unpracticed it gave me déjà vu, reminding me of me, speaking at old Council meetings, mangling the language. "They admit to it, brothers and sisters! Three of our youth gone, stolen from us!"

Lucille looked my way - she was standing right next to me - and I leaned down and summarized what had been said so far, translating the Latin into English. Once I was done Lucille audibly snorted, throwing off Gauthier's rhythm. He stopped and turned to face Lucille, brow furrowing as if just seeing her.

Our plan for the opening phase was really more of a set of bullet points, but Salazar had grudgingly allowed for Lucille to speak and help, agreeing that Gauthier's position would be damaged more by his daughter's recriminations than a random wizard's.

"Stolen?" Lucille asked in Etruscan, stepping forward, expression twisted into a contemptuous, hateful sneer. "The only thing the wizard has stolen from you, my dear father, is your pride and dignity. Look at you now, wounded and lamed, groveling and begging for scraps from your fellows. You should have listened to the wizard when he offered you peace."

"Your mind is not your own, my daughter," Gauthier replied in Etruscan.

Lucille laughed cruelly. "No, father, I am the master of my own fate now. Not a whining bitch begging to be bred as you would have me. I am better than you could have ever hoped to be." She raised her right hand and gestured at us. "Look, four of the Council have come to bring my wrath upon you, a wrath you engendered by failing as a father. And my aunt, as a mother." She dropped her hand. "Incapable fools, the both of you."

In the silence that followed, I nudged Salazar's foot twice, a signal to keep going. He coughed politely, drew everyone's attention, and asked, "Your response, _Constable_?" he asked, saying the last word as it was said in French. _Constabularius_, its approximate Latin translation, didn't have the same meaning as a title. "Do you deny our accusations, or do you agree to respond to our challenge?"

Gauthier narrowed his eyes, and looked between Lucille, me, and Salazar. "Fine, then," he spat. "I accept, if only to prove the worthlessness of your words. But if you think me so weak and helpless, what does it say about you that you bring four to face me?"

Salazar smiled. "Two will suffice," he replied. "One for you, to make you answer for your crimes, and one for your sister, for her foolishness in aiding you."

Gauthier glanced off to the side, towards Blandine, who was herself staring at me hatefully. Off to my right, Rowena broke ranks and stepped forward, looking at Blandine with a cool expression.

"Or we can have two separate duels, if you wish," Salazar offered.

I don't know if Blandine understood what he said, exactly, but she seemed to figure his intent anyway. She stepped forward, moving away from the group of Raiths and towards her brother. Gauthier nodded towards her, then turned to face the Lord Raith. In Latin, he said. "We accept the initial terms, two on two." In Etruscan, he added. "And by doing so cast the fools down."

"Very well," Raith said. "As an arbiter, I will oversee this challenge. Prepare yourselves, cousins. Unless the kine wish to fight unarmed as well."

Salazar smiled coldly in return. "Not that we need it, but I feel it only appropriate to allow the challenged to put their best foot forward. It will be their last, after all."

Raith smiled in return, and clapped his hands. In Etruscan, he said, "Music, while we wait, and wine."

Music struck up from somewhere nearby, maybe an adjoining room, a pair of lutes, a harp, and a set of drums by the sound of it. Gauthier called out some orders in French, and servants went scattering to grab some equipment for him and Blandine. An excited buzz of voices rose up in the meantime, servants splitting off from the walls and circulating with silver trays and glasses of wine.

"Rowena, are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" I asked quietly, our group breaking its formation for the moment.

"Yes," she replied. "They attacked me. I will not let that go unanswered."

"Alright," I said. "I'll back you up then."

Lucille hummed with displeasure beside me, and I glanced at her. "What?" I asked.

"I want to kill him myself," Lucille hissed.

I furrowed my brow. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. If you were on your own, maybe, but I'm not willing to let you risk Rowena too."

"We're here because of me, damn it," she said.

"I'm aware, but that's no reason to screw this up midway through," I replied. "The odds are against you. Severely."

"He speaks truly, sister. You stand no chance," Tim said.

Lucille rounded on her brother, eyes blazing, but before she could respond he continued, "You would lose, without question. Your skill with the sword is only passable, your training sporadic. Father is wounded, yet older, and very skilled. He has no doubt also gorged his Hunger, whereas you are not so well fed. If you fight him, he will beat you, and he will break you."

Lucille snarled and looked away. "He's _right here_," she muttered. "Right here, and I can't do anything to him."

Tim put a hand on his sister's shoulder. "I know." He looked up at me, and said, "But I'll fight in your place."

Despite what he said, I knew he was asking me for permission. I took a deep breath and looked him over, my gaze falling on the hilt of _Amoracchius_. "Do you think you can take him?" I asked. "Fight him, and not endanger Rowena?"

He wrapped his hand around the plain steel of the Sword's pommel and nodded. "I believe so, if your friend can handle my aunt."

I looked over at Rowena. "Rowena, do you agree with this?"

She glanced coolly at Tim. "It doesn't matter to me who stands by my side."

I nodded and turned back to Tim. "Fine. You can fight. But if you screw this up, I assure you, you won't live to regret it."

"I understand," Tim said.

A pair of servants approached us then, a man and woman. Their eyes were partly glazed over, but they retained enough presence of mind to be tense with fear. "Some wine, honored guests?" the man asked in French.

I glanced over their heads towards Raith, and found him looking at our group with a lazy expression, though he couldn't entirely hide the intentness of his gaze.

This was a test, of sorts. He'd have to be stupid to try and deliver poisoned wine to a quartet of wizards and witches, which meant the wine was genuine. And by accepting it, we'd also implicitly be accepting the second half of the statement - that we were here as honored guests, emphasis on the guests. Guest rights were a major, major thing in the supernatural world, such that even a complete bastard like Raith played mostly straight with them.

If we accepted the wine, it would tie our hands, give us little leverage when it came to forcing Raith to sign. If we attacked him after accepting his hospitality, it would reflect poorly on us, on me, and by extension, on Mab and the Council. It would, perhaps, undermine the Accords before they even began. I doubted that I would live long if that happened. But by not accepting, we told him we were there for more than just Gauthier's head, which would give him time to think and prepare.

But we didn't have any choice in the matter.

"No thank you," I said. "We'll pass."

The two servants froze and fearfully glanced at each other. Then the woman licked her lips, curtsied shakily, and they swiftly departed, the glasses having never left the tray. Raith and a few others noticed the interplay, and the King's eyes narrowed.

I mustered a thin smile in return.

Speaking of guesthood, Gauthier's castle must not have had much of a threshold, since I hadn't felt my power constrict in the slightest as we crossed over from the Nevernever. Or, alternately, perhaps Rowena had shattered the threshold when she'd torn open the rift. I hadn't thought of that before. The idea seemed terrifying, but also in line with what the athame could do. I'd have to ask her later.

Servants eventually emerged with a full set of equipment for both Gauthier and Blandine, coats of mail and charms and other armaments. Blandine tore off the bottom of her dress, exposing her bare, pale legs, and then tore off more in order to comfortably fit in the armor. Gauthier's dress, meanwhile, seemed to be perfectly sized to fit under his coat of mail. It took them a few minutes to finish, at which point they both drew their swords, keeping hold of their scabbards. I noticed Gauthier was using _Joyeuse_.

On our side, Salazar, Helga, Lucille, and I all backed up. For a moment, Gauthier looked at us and frowned, confused. Then Tim took a step forward and fell in beside Rowena, and his eyes widened in shock. Excited, frantic muttering broke out amidst the various cliques at this shocking, unexpected twist. As this was going on, Tim unclasped his long and heavy cloak, and threw it back to Lucille.

The music came to an end, and the rest of the vampires started moving. They withdrew from the center of the chamber to stand on either side, leaving the long stretch of stone between the columns open, our rift on one end, Raith's White Throne upon the other. He didn't get up, didn't even move. Just smiled and snapped his fingers. Between his seeming confidence and the fact that Mab felt he'd insulted her, it made me worry that his magical invincibility wasn't as recent a development as I would have hoped.

Servants in their finery began filtering through the crowd of vampires. A number swayed more than walked right up to the dual lines of columns, where they knelt down, forming ranks in front of the vampires on either side of the hall. Having seen this once before, I figured it meant the White Court at large knew about the Laws, which didn't really surprise me.

I was worried about what this might mean for Rowena though. She'd described her athame as "difficult to control", and with all the human shields around I was afraid she might accidentally break the First Law. But by that point it was too late to do anything about it, so I shut up and hoped for the best.

Gauthier and Blandine, along with Tim and Rowena, moved to stand thirty feet across from each other, all four of them silent as the grave.

"Gentlemen, ladies," Raith said. "Stand ready. Let no weapon of any kind be drawn until the duel commences, which will be at my discretion."

If a tumbleweed were to have somehow found its way into the room, I'm sure it would have blown across the hall in that moment.

"Begin," Raith said.

The vampires blurred into motion, all three of them, Gauthier and Blandine both going directly for Rowena. Tim intercepted his father, _Amoracchius_ flashing out of its scabbard and slamming against _Joyeuse_ with a ring of steel. But Blandine was still charging at Rowena, and for a single, heart-stopping moment, I thought the succubus would make it. Rowena had no experience in a fight, didn't have the instincts for it, the reflexes. Her hand wasn't even moving.

But her head was. She looked Blandine dead on, and the succubus stopped, her outstretched sword a few feet away from Rowena's neck. I realized I was once again seeing a soulgaze from the outside. It was simple, brief, and entirely unremarkable. Blandine stared, eyes widening, and then shuddered. She stood there for a moment, frozen, her breathing erratic.

Then Rowena gestured with her hand, and a shield formed between her and Blandine. In the moments that followed, Rowena drew both her wand and athame, then advanced on the succubus.

Off to the side Gauthier was staring at his son in shock, their crossed blades inches from their faces. Gauthier's skin was beginning to blister from the proximity.

"Why?" I heard Gauthier ask in French.

"Because you are not a good man, Father," Tim said. Then he kneed his father in the chest and pushed him back. _Amoracchius_ clashed against _Joyeuse_ in the seconds that followed, both legendary swords throwing off sparks as they met. As their duel started in earnest, I put the father-son pair out of my mind and focused on Rowena.

Rowena and Blandine were pacing back and forth, Rowena's shield thwarting each of Blandine's quick sorties. But Rowena wasn't responding at all besides blocking the attacks, and I was starting to wonder what the hell she was doing. Her shield couldn't have been that practiced and strong and a vampire definitely would've had the endurance and blunt force to break through, and yet Rowena was doing nothing. I didn't get it.

After half a minute of this, Blandine changed tactics. She kicked off one of her shoes, picked it up in her free hand, and threw it like a fastball at Rowena, darting off to the side as Rowena's shield flashed at the impact. Blandine made it to Rowena's left, her sword coming around to take off Rowena's hand. Rowena jerked her hand back, interposing the athame, and let out a yell in Polish as steel clashed with dark glass.

And lost. Hard.

The sword shattered in stages, from the tip, to the middle, to the base, to the hilt. Then it kept going, to Blandine's hand, her wrist, her forearm, her elbow. Like a series of explosions, Blandine's arm burst apart into blood and bone, splattering against both Rowena and the servants and vampires behind her. And it didn't stop there. The explosions rippled across the rest of the succubus' body in quick succession, tearing lines through her chest, her legs, her arm, and her head. It took five long, agonizing seconds from contact for Blandine to die, shattered into a million tiny pieces.

Tim and Gauthier paused in their fighting, both looking over to the bloody remnants of their family. In the shocked silence that followed, Rowena cast her gaze across each and every vampire, on both sides of the room. Every vampire in the room had taken a half-step back as her gaze passed over them, with the exception of one - Raith. He just looked far, far too interested. After a long sweep, her gaze finally settled on Gauthier. She looked at him for a few seconds, then gestured at Tim.

The clash of swords began again, more frantic this time. Gauthier had age, experience, and speed on his son, but Tim was neither wounded nor flinching from every clash. I noticed that the sparks that went flying sometimes fell on Tim and Gauthier, doing nothing to the former but painfully burning the latter. Gauthier grit his teeth, drawing more and more on his Hunger to move faster, to strike stronger, to compensate for his wounds. Tim fought defensively, kind of like he had against me, drawing the fight out and trying to exhaust his father.

Gauthier picked up on that, and a few seconds later, when their swords were briefly crossed, put on an extra burst of strength, driving both _Amoracchius_ and _Joyeuse_ to the ground. Then, quick as a snake, he took his right hand off _Joyeuse_ and punched his son in the face, obliterating Tim's nose. The younger vampire reeled and stumbled back, and I saw the ghost of a smile on his face.

Then Tim drew on his Hunger, really drew, and moved one hand from _Amoracchius_' hilt to the hilt of his own, sheathed sword. In a flash he took the hilt in a reverse grip and drew it, bringing it up sharply and severing Gauthier's arm at the elbow. Then he turned it around and stabbed down, piercing his father's chest and driving his sword into the stone of the floor.

Gauthier gurgled and let go of _Joyeuse_ with his one remaining hand, painfully clutching the hilt of his son's sword and drawing it out. Tim, meanwhile, had bent down to pick up _Joyeuse_ and had backed up, crisscrossing the swords around his father's neck like Anakin had done to Dooku. As they stared at each other, I wondered who would be the Palpatine in this situation: me, or Lucille.

After a few seconds, Gauthier let go of his son's sword, letting it clatter against the ground. "Congratulations," he said gruffly, in French, his chest wound closing over. "You won. Are you going to kill me now too?"

For a moment, it looked like Tim was considering it, and I curled my hand around my staff. I wasn't sure how _Amoracchius_ would react if it was used in this moment, and as much as I was filled with self-loathing at that moment, I didn't want the Sword to actually break.

Fortunately, Tim didn't cross his swords, instead pulling them back. "No. I'm not going to kill you," he said. He looked over his shoulder, at Lucille. "She is."

There was a great, anguished, victorious cry and Lucille rushed across the gap, fast as a cheetah. Gauthier barely had enough time to widen his eyes and reach for Tim's discarded sword when Lucille fell upon him, bludgeoning and tearing at him with her bare hands. In the seconds that followed, I found it hard to judge who had been more brutal: Rowena, or Lucille. When it was finally over, Gauthier's limbs lay in a strewn circle around his body, his skull smashed open, blood and viscera staining Lucille's shirt, hands, and cloak.

She knelt there for a few seconds, amidst the ruins of her father, and panted. Then she stood up, one leg at a time, smashed her heel into the remains of Gauthier's head, and stalked back over to us. Tim had rejoined us in the interim, his nose having regrown, and once Lucille fell in beside me, the six of us turned to face the White King.

Two down. One to go.


	88. Chapter 6-XVI

**November 1070**

Raith broke the silence first, speaking to his Court in Etruscan. "I suppose, in the end, poor Gauthier was right about one thing. The kine were displeased with him."

Titters ran through the cliques of vampires, and he let them go on for a while before raising his hand, looking down at the six of us, and continuing in Latin. "Honored _visitors_," he said, "you have your vengeance. What other business brings you to this great hall?"

"The matter of the Unseelie Accords," Salazar said.

Raith arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yes. We wish for you to sign and join the august assembly of courts that have come together to establish these Accords."

"And how is the decision of the White Throne the business of your Council?" Raith asked. He then looked directly at me, lips stretching into a smirk. "Or is this a private matter, on behalf of a woman spurned?"

"We are the duly appointed representatives of Queen Mab, yes," Salazar replied.

"Really? All of you? Or just her... toy?" Raith asked lazily.

I tightened my grip around my staff.

"In this matter, we stand as one," Salazar said. "And we strongly urge you to reconsider your prior decision."

Raith laughed like Palpatine had, when Luke had been fighting Vader. And no, I'm never going to stop with the _Star Wars_ references. "You 'strongly urge' me? Oh, this I must see. Tell me, what argument do you present?"

"The oldest one of all," Salazar said, then hissed sharply. Raith's eyes narrowed and the vampires around the room stiffened, but they all stopped as a loud, gravely, almost rumbling hiss filled the hall. I spared a quick glance over my shoulder, and I saw the murky plane of the rift swell before bursting like a blister, revealing the head of an enormous snake crowned by fire. The head came to rest above us, the basilisk's eyes closed, his forked tongue flicking out through its teeth as he hissed and panned his head across the room.

"Do what I ask, or perish," Salazar concluded.

Raith's expression had changed. He'd sucked in his cheeks partway, and he'd curled his lips into a circle. There was an edge of wariness in his expression, one super-predator suddenly finding himself in the vicinity of another one. As if sensing him, the basilisk turned his head to stare blindly at Raith, still hissing.

"I see. Is that a basilisk and a phoenix, together?" Raith asked. "How... diametric."

Salazar nudged his foot back into mine, and I slowly drew out the Accords and shook the book, holding it by the covers.

"Your response, O King?" Salazar asked.

"Patience, patience. This matter requires careful deliberation," he said, looking down at Lucille and Tim and switching to Etruscan. "Lucille and Timothée, yes? You would be my great grand-niece and nephew, as I recall."

Small world. Then again, all the Vampire Courts I knew of were literal family affairs. The Whites were just more direct about it.

"Yes?" Lucille replied in Etruscan, holding her calm well considering the circumstances.

"Your immediate family has perished. That makes you the heirs to these grand estates. I congratulate you on your inheritance, but I mean to ask: do you mean to stand with your 'puppets' in this matter?" Raith asked.

Lucille looked my way, and I could see the conflict in her eyes. Her father was dead, her aunt too. No one threatened her any longer. Raith was extending an open hand. If she wanted, she could just leave. Forget our arrangement, forgo my protection, and take what was being offered. Power, authority, influence. I didn't have anything left to offer her at this point.

Then she looked over at her brother, and studied him. Finally she turned back to Raith and studied him.

As the silence stretched on, I began to have a bad feeling. More than the entirely understandable "we're surrounded by vampires" kind of bad feeling. The kind of feeling that I had missed something.

"I do, King Raith. I would not bet against Dresden if you offered me the world," she replied.

Esther's attack on Rowena gnawed at my thoughts like a canker. Why had a single vampire attacked a witch directly? It couldn't have been just because of stupidity, there had to be a reason behind it. And why had she and Gauthier acted so openly, so directly? It didn't fit with what I knew of the White Court. I'd already assumed that it was because the White Court felt less need to be circumspect in this day and age, that they hadn't been burned quite so hard as to need to act through cutouts and patsies.

As I looked at Raith, and considered what Salazar had told me earlier today, the pieces came together. The White Council wasn't the giant bestriding the supernatural world right now. The Red Court was locked to the Americas, perhaps even just to Central America. The Faerie Courts were limited in a number of ways. The Black Court didn't exist. The Denarians rarely "went loud." But the White Court was present. The White Court wasn't limited in numbers like the Denarians. The White Court could reliably replenish their own numbers. The White Court didn't need to spend decades and centuries training a new member to make them a danger.

The White Court weren't in the middle of the pack of predators. They were the current apex predators. And apex predators had no need to be subtle.

"Ah," Raith said. "Shame."

My will and power was already surging into my physical shield when Raith responded, a shining blue hemispherical barrier sparking to life in front of the six of us. Even with the warning, even with the realization, I barely reacted in time. One heartbeat Raith was lounging on his throne, the next he was slamming up against my shield with enough force to make _Magog_ pause and take heed. Raith had come within a hair's breadth of breaking my shield with a single punch.

I reinforced my shield in time for him to smile at me, and I realized he'd been expecting that. He then pressed a hand up against my shield and used it fling himself upward, right at the basilisk, where he lightly kissed the basilisk right on the nose.

My eyes widened, and I snapped my shield straight up as the basilisk's hissing instantly stopped, and a moment later the head came crashing down on us.

"Take them!" Raith yelled.

Fifty vampires unleashed their Hungers all at once and came at us, the combined bow-wave of lust, fear, and despair crashing into us only to be stopped by Guy's song. Salazar didn't react in time, his eyes wide with shock as his basilisk lay limply atop my shield. Rowena's reflexes weren't sharp. I was busy with the shield.

That left Helga.

Eyes narrowed in concentration, Helga sharply jerked her wand to the side and yelled something in some Nordic tongue, and the floor for ten feet around us, past the line of Salazar's writhing glowing snakes, turned to muddy slush, the vampires stumbling and falling over each other as they rushed us.

"Salazar!" I yelled. "Some help!"

A second later I breathed a sigh of relief as Rowena gestured with her wand and pinned the basilisk's head to the roof, freeing me to lower my shield as Raith dropped to the ground on the other side of the slush. I narrowed the shield a little as Lucille and Tim moved to its flanks, three swords flashing through the front ranks of pinned and fallen vampires.

Raith bellowed for the vampires to send the thralls, and as a result the ones in the middle and back pushed their comrades towards the front while extricating themselves from the mud. Panicked screams began to fill the air as servants were manhandled and thrown and pushed forward, forming a curve of human shields.

As the vampires began hauling the servants through the mud, Salazar finally recovered. He looked upon the vampires with absolute fury, and moved forward far enough until none of us could see his face. I felt a surge of magic as he bellowed in rage and pain, and everyone that was facing him, the servants, the vampires, all froze, just like the draugr had.

All except one - Raith.

With relatively clear lines of fire I pulled my blasting rod out of my coat and yelled, "_Infriga!_", pulling the heat right out of a few unlucky vampire's heads and directing that heat into the heads of a few more. At the same time some of the mud shot upwards as spouts, turning into stone just before they hit and rent pale flesh. Next to me, Rowena stabbed her athame towards Raith, her line of fire unobstructed by any servants. Her spell came out as a jagged bolt of light which tore right through my shield and hit Raith right in the chest. For a moment, I dared hope that the athame would cut through whatever protections Raith had, would just kill him then and there.

The light surged up and around Raith's stole, cutting it to shreds and taking out his toga for good measure. But it didn't cut into his chest. Instead it slid around him, following the cut along his stole, and there it managed to cut his shoulder, deeply.

Raith looked down at his shoulder in surprise, the skin and muscle already surging and trying to regrow, only to not quite succeed. He stared at it in wonder, then looked over at Rowena and grinned like a shark.

I got my shield back up just in time for him to slam into it, and it held for all of two punches before he battered right through it. Salazar snarled and turned to face him, gesturing with his wand, but his red cutting bolt splashed harmlessly against Raith's bare chest, and then a heartbeat later he was in front of Salazar. He shouldn't have had the height on Salazar to loom, he was barely taller, but somehow he seemed like a giant in comparison to Salazar. He reached out with one hand, brushing it across Salazar's face, and then recoiled with a snarl as his hand burst into flame.

"Love," he snarled. "How trite."

He ducked out of the way of Rowena's next attack, a bolt of light shot diagonally upwards, and punched Salazar in the chest, hard. I heard ribs shatter as Salazar flew back, hitting the bottom bit of his basilisk that was sticking out of the rift, coughing out blood on impact. Whatever spell he'd been maintaining with his eyes cut out, and all the vampires started screaming again.

Helga moved to help Tim and Lucille with the swarm of vampires, transforming and maneuvering the muddy slurry to slow and block and direct the oncoming vampires without hindering the two on our side. Lucille struck like a serpent, sword flashing in and out through vampire's heads, while on the other side Tim was wading through the mud as if it didn't bother him, swords flashing out around him. One vampire tried to interpose a servant in front of _Amoracchius_, but Tim just tossed the Sword into the air, tore the servant out of the vampire's grasp, and took hold of the Sword in time to crack the vampire's skull with it.

Guy had been keeping to the air up until this moment, but now he tried to plunge towards Salazar. Tried, because as he flew by Raith's hand snapped out and grabbed Guy by the neck. He squeezed, hard, and Guy's head went limp, though a moment later his body started to glow. With a contemptuous sneer Raith threw Guy's body into the mud and then turned to face me and Rowena.

I'd tried to fight Raith once, back in my time. I'd probed at him with my magic, felt the kind of protection he had around him - a cold, hungry emptiness that filled the space where he should have been, a void like that of mordite. My power hadn't even been able to touch him then. I wasn't sure it would make that much of a difference now, even with soulfire.

I dropped my staff and blasting rod, drew Snickers, and prepared to get my ass kicked buying time for Rowena.

Raith laughed as he saw me draw. "Really, Dresden, a _sword_? Well, if you wish." He came at me fast, but not fast enough that I couldn't react, couldn't bring my sword around to dissuade his punch. I realized two seconds in that Raith was just toying with me, dodging around and keeping me between him and Rowena. I managed to scratch him a few times, lightly, spilling his blood across the floor, but that was just because he didn't care to avoid me entirely.

Soon enough he got bored and tapped into his Hunger more strenuously, blurring around me and smashing an elbow into my right hand. I grunted in pain as he broke my wrist, my fingers going limp and dropping Snickers. He tried to catch it, but the enchantments Luccio had put on the sword meant his fingers just slid clean off the hilt.

He cocked his head at that, glancing down quickly. "Hmm. Interesting." Then he stepped forward, hands shooting forth to grab my head and pull me in for a kiss.

And the moment he touched me, his hands burst into flame.

He cursed and jerked his hands away, taking two steps back, and for a few moments we just stared at each other, both utterly shocked at the turn of events. Neither of us had been expecting anything like that to happen.

I'd like to say that what happened next was planned. I'd like to say that I called up all my power and pressed my will against Raith, empowering the force with soulfire in order to bull just a fraction of my power through, just a fraction of my soul. I'd like to say that I used soulfire because that was as good as physical contact, better even, for burning him with the energy that was somehow protecting me. I'd like to say that I wasn't being an idiot.

But I can't say any of that, because in that moment, I just lost it.

I screamed in pain and rage and loss and hatred and so much more, a glowing white hand forming around Raith and _squeezing_. I heard him scream in agony as scraps of my power flowed through the void surrounding him, burning every inch of his bare flesh. I poured everything I had into it, every ounce of power, every scrap of soulfire, without any sense of restraint.

I would have burnt my soul to ash in that moment, destroyed myself completely and utterly, if not for one thing. As Raith gurgled and suffered, a very calm, very gentle, very rational voice whispered in my ear, "Bonea."

I gasped and and let go, my power dissipating, and my right arm went numb. In fact most of my body went numb, and it was a miracle that I didn't fall over. I felt thin, stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread. I'd used more soulfire in one go than I'd ever used before, more soulfire in one spell than I'd ever used in a day. I couldn't even guess how much of my soul remained. A fifth? A tenth? Less?

All I knew was that I was _exhausted_, filled with a bone-deep weariness that threatened to drag me into oblivion. And yet I still stood, and Raith didn't, and that was enough.

It took me a few seconds to realize the room had gone silent. I looked around, my head turning at a snail's pace, and I found that maybe half the vampires, at most, were still alive. All of them were watching us. All of them were watching _me_, standing over their once-invincible King. The King that was now writhing on the floor, every inch of his skin burnt clean off.

Wincing, I staggered forward, falling to my knees in the process. I grabbed Raith by one hand and he jerked as his flesh started sizzling again. I dragged his hand and fingers through a small pool of blood, then let go. I then reached around to grab the book I'd dropped, and with agonizing slowness, set it down on the ground and flipped it open to the last page.

"Sign," I forced out. "Sign in blood."

Raith just lay there and twitched, so I grabbed him by what remained of his hair and pulled him up, his screams starting up again.

"Sign!"

Raith smeared his bloody hand all over the page, making a complete mess of everything. It was, I felt, a more powerful statement than if he'd signed and sealed it properly and neatly and formally. I let go of his hair and his head hit the ground with a loud _thud_. Carefully, I picked the Accords back up, waiting for the blood to dry before closing the back cover.

Vampires milled around us uncertainly. The odds were uncertain - they still outnumbered us about five to one, and of our number Salazar was down and out, the basilisk was dead, Rowena was half-occupied by keeping it from crushing us, Tim and Lucille both looked wounded and battered, their Hungers sparsely fed in comparison to their cousins, and I could barely even limp.

But Helga was still fine, Rowena could still use her athame, Tim still had _Joyeuse_ and _Amoracchius_, and across from us, Guy's literal funeral pyre was beginning to get pretty bright, signaling he was close to rebirth. And their King was lying prostrate, defeated, broken.

Part of me wanted to kill him then. But as I stared down at his pitiful form, I knew he wouldn't recover from this. Even if his Hunger could somehow heal his wounds, he'd be left starving, weak. And all the vampires around him would never follow him again. His image had been shattered, absolutely. Whatever else happened today, Raith was done. He'd never rule again.

And I could tell Lucille realized that. I saw her staring at Raith, eyes wide and bright silver, her heavy breathing and torn clothes interacting in interesting ways. If she wanted to, Lucille could take it all today. Dominate Raith, turn him into her puppet, take control of the White Court. After all, she was ultimately the main reason we were here, why any of this had happened. She and her brother could spin this as a master plan on their part, a grand ploy to demonstrate their power and remove all obstacles to their reign. Tim would be her enforcer; armed with _Joyeuse_, he'd probably be a terror.

And honestly, I wasn't sure what I wanted her to do. If we left Raith alone, one of the other surviving vampires would just take over for him, and who knows what they would do, how they would act, the grudges they might hold. With a passably friendly Queen at the helm, one who understood me and what I could do, the White Court might have made peace with the Council, formed an uneasy détente. But she would sacrifice much of her humanity in the process. The power and intrigues of the White Court bred monsters. I doubted Lucille could reform it successfully - she was ultimately too inexperienced.

Lucille met my gaze, and as she did, the silver in her eyes faded, her Hunger instinctively retreating from me. She swallowed and looked away, peering over the rest of the hall, at all the surviving Raiths and Skavis and Malvora.

She took a deep breath, straightened her posture, and made her choice.

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, I am cruel with cliffhangers, why do you ask?


	89. Chapter 6-XVII

**November 1070**

We magically dragged the remains of Salazar's basilisk into the Nevernever, sealing the rift behind us. None of us said anything, Salazar least of all. He just stared at the basilisk's corpse, his posture slumped and defeated. Guy had fixed up most of his physical wounds, but hadn't done anything for the emotional ones.

Guy hadn't been able to do much for mine either. My exhaustion wasn't a matter of cells or energy or injury. It was something deeper, more profound. My right wrist was whole again, but my arm was still numb. I limped along on my staff, clutching it tightly with my left hand. The potion I'd given to Rowena turned out to be short-lasting, and once the effects wore off she kind of froze.

"My wife looked after him," Salazar said, defeated. "Birthed him. Couldn't raise him, truly, but she helped. He was like a second son to me."

I cocked my head to the side. "Second?" I asked.

Salazar nodded. "I have a son. My wife named him Eder, after an... an uncle of hers, I believe."

"He wasn't free to come help you?" I asked.

"He might have, but we've barely spoken since... her death," he replied.

I let out a long sigh and looked over at the basilisk corpse, then up at my shoulder, at Guy.

"As I understand it, Raith's kiss of death is like a vampire's feeding turned up to eleven. He just rips the life out, but doesn't injure the body in any way," I said. "Could you fix that?"

Guy warbled sadly.

"No, no, I... I'm not getting my point across," I said. "I know the basilisk is dead. It's... his spirit is gone. But if it wasn't, if it was there, could you... I don't know, bring him to life?"

Salazar slowly turned his head to face me. "What are you saying?" he asked.

"I told you, I read a book on necromancy. I remember every bit of it," I said, glancing at Salazar. "I once heard of a woman, a necromancer herself, who saved a man's life by tethering his to his body as... physicians worked to repair the physical damage. It worked, saved the man's life. And I mean, your basilisk's body hasn't been cold that long, and he isn't human. I wouldn't be breaking any Laws." I looked back at Guy. "I just need to know if you can manage that last step."

Guy warbled again, this time with uncertainty.

I sighed, nestled my staff in the crook of my arm, and ran a hand through my hair. "Okay. Okay. Everyone, get back."

Salazar kept staring at me. "Why?" he asked.

"Because you came to help me," I said. "You brought him to help me. And because I screwed up, didn't do my research properly, he died. So I'm fixing that. Now get back. Necromancy's cold and rank and you don't want to be near me when I'm doing this."

"Have you ever even resurrected anything before?" he asked.

"Yeah. Giant reptile about half your basilisk's size," I said. "And its bones had been rotting for a long, long time. Now, I'm not going to repeat myself again. Get back."

Salazar swallowed and walked back, the others backing up with him. As for me, I limped over to the basilisk's head, planted my staff in the ground, and laid my one working hand on the basilisk's head.

Salazar's basilisk was an enormous creature. Powerful, unnatural. I shouldn't have had the power or ability to bring it back, not after what I'd done to Raith. But as I'd found out a year ago, with the draugr - necromancy and soulfire are a hell of a mix.

It hurt as I started chanting, a cold, tingling nonfeeling working its way through every inch of my body, as I wound that power into the corpse in front of me. Behind me, I could hear Guy flap his wings, letting off a sound like a crack of thunder with each motion. A beat, slow but steady.

I won't describe the process. I'll just say the effort knocked me out, dragged me into unconsciousness. But the last thing I remember before I slumped over, was the basilisk juddering to life, and a blaze of fire harmlessly engulfing it.

* * *

I woke up a day later, in Rowena's tower. Without a wardkey they couldn't get me into my house, and after waking up I could barely move, so I spent a few days in Rowena's care. Turns out she was a good healer, for a recluse.

Late on the first day, when I could finally manage to string more than two words together, I asked her, "How did you learn this? The healing, the way you... exploded Blandine."

"Morgana left many journals on many topics," Rowena said, sitting beside the makeshift bed she'd rigged for me. "A number of them were on the human body. My ancestor was many things, but what she was best at, what she was renowned for, was healing. She was magnificent at it."

"Healing, huh," I said. "What about when my arm got cursed, by the draugr? Did Salazar just not tell you about it?"

"No, he did, but there was little I could do about it," she replied. "I never said I was a magnificent healer. I'm simply good. And I hadn't thought of using her athame on a living being before you brought it up, and that was the only way I think I could have removed that curse."

"Does that mean I have to be worried when you cut into my brain?" I asked.

"No. I need to run a few final experiments, make sure I fully and truly understand everything properly, but I should be ready to extract the spirit in a week. Which is good, because I don't think you have much longer."

"A week, huh. How long until I can go back to Berkhamsted?" I asked.

"In another day or two, I'd say."

I nodded. "So, about five to six days to finish Bonea's vessel. I'd hoped I would have longer. I'll have to cut a few corners."

"I am certain you will make it work, Harry," she said.

"Yeah." I looked up at her then, and thought about asking her what she thought about me. How she felt about me. But I didn't. I couldn't. I didn't want some kind of desperation rebound relationship. I didn't want Rowena to be a desperation rebound. Instead I just asked, "Blandine. You soulgazed her, didn't you?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Why?"

"Because... because I wanted to see her. To remember her. I'd never fought in anger before then. Killed. I wanted to be sure I was doing it for the right reasons. That she... deserved it," she said.

"And what did you see?" I asked.

"Enough," she replied. "I don't understand how you do it. Fight, again and again."

"Someone has to, I guess," I said. "For some reason it just keeps falling on me to do it."

Rowena nodded and moved to get up. I stopped her, grabbed her by the hand. "Hey," I asked. "The Accords. Are they still in my coat?"

"No," she said. "I had them delivered to the Winter Queen. I thought you would rather not do that yourself if you did not have to."

I let go of her hand and nodded. "Thank you."

* * *

I took the Ways back to Berkhamsted late the next day, following Rowena's directions. I grabbed Shadowfax from the castle stables, since he'd been taken in while I was gone, and Eva caught me on the way out, following me back to my house. I prepared a meal for us as usual, if a much later one than the usual, and poured us both a cup of something very mildly alcoholic.

She didn't ask me any questions while we ate, and I didn't press her. But when we were done, and I moved to put the plates away, she asked, "Is this what being a witch is like? Not knowing what is real, who is real, what to trust or believe?"

I sighed. "In a way, yes. Magic is a wondrous gift, Eva. A great and terrible one. It broadens your horizons, opens your eye to vistas of knowledge. But not everything you're going to learn or find is good. Sometimes ignorance really is bliss, because if you don't know what's out there, you can't worry about it. But at the same time, that doesn't mean it'll all ignore you." I took a deep breath. "Magic isolates a practitioner. Our auras, the way we naturally, passively warp the world around us, is just the beginning of that isolation, the surface level. It's what we learn practicing the Art that truly sets us apart. And only you can decide if magic is worth the price."

"Elfleda said I would likely outlive my entire family," she said. "Is that true?"

"It is. The body of a practicing wizard, a witch, is different than that of a regular person's in a number of ways. The biggest is that after a certain point, around forty or fifty or somewhere around there, we stop aging as fast as everyone else. For some it slows to an absolute crawl, in others just stretches out a little. It correlates strongly with the amount of power you have. With the amount you have, you will comfortably live to see your three hundredth birthday. Maybe more. Unless you die along the way."

"So my parents will die. My brother will die. If he gets married, his children will die. Their children will die. And I will still be young."

"Yes."

"How do you live with that?" she asked.

"I'm young, as wizards go. Turned forty a few days ago. So far, I've only had to outlive friends and family the violent way. But I imagine that many wizards and witches live with it by distancing themselves from regular people. Shutting themselves away. Can't get hurt if you don't have anything to lose," I said. "I don't entirely agree with that, but who knows, maybe I will in the future."

Eva nodded without really understanding. "Now that Elfleda is leaving, how will you teach me?"

"I don't know." I ran a hand through my hair. "We don't really have a cover any more, strange and threadbare as the one she provided was. I'm not sure how we'll excuse your comings and goings now, or my comings and goings if I start going to the castle and spending time with you."

"Do we still have to?" she asked. "Can't I just be your apprentice openly?"

"You can, I guess," I said. "But that would change how everyone sees you. Acts around you. You would be the odd one out."

"Isolated," she said.

"Yeah."

"But I'm already isolated, aren't I? The one Saxon girl at court. Lady-in-waiting to a woman who never really existed, who will also be leaving soon. My brother might not even come back to court. And eventually you'll have to leave too, for your school."

"Eventually," I agreed.

Eva shrugged. "Then... whatever. Let them talk. Elfleda taught me how to deal with people like them." She laid her small, dainty hand over my large, scarred hand, and smiled cheekily at me. "And besides, you need someone to look after you. You'd be hopeless on your own, after all."

"Hopeless, huh? You know, you've still got a lot to learn before you can call yourself a Master of the Snark, Cinderella," I replied.

"Cinderella?"

* * *

The morning of the day Rowena was supposed to come and extract Bonea, an unexpected visitor knocked on my door. She was about five-four, dark haired, plump of figure, pale skinned, dressed like a man, and had a familiar Sword at her hip and a cask of ale in her arms.

"Lucille," I said. "What brings you here?"

She gestured with one elbow towards the Sword, then hefted the cask. "To talk. And drink."

"Today's not a good day for me to drink," I said.

"Then I'll drink half and you can keep the rest for later," she said.

I looked down at her, peering into her eyes then around the empty street, before sighing and stepping back. "Alright," I said. "Come in."

"Thank you," she said. She hauled the cask inside and set it down on my new table. Reattaching the pieces of the old one had proven to be prohibitively difficult, so I decided to just break down the pieces into tinder and start over with a new one. The wooden utensils joined that pile of tinder.

"Do you want anything to eat?" I asked.

"No. Why, do you usually eat in the morning?"

"Usually, yeah."

Lucille snorted and shook her head. "You're a strange man."

"Far as I'm concerned, you're the weirdos for skipping breakfast," I said. I went to pull out a cup for her to pour the ale into, and handed it over to her. I offered to crack it open for her, but she demurred and did it herself.

"So why are you here?" I asked, taking a seat.

"To return this," she said, unbuckling _Amoracchius_ from around her waist and hoisting it onto the table by the scabbard.

"I don't need it, or want it," I said.

"Well neither does my brother," she replied. "He said he doesn't feel up to the responsibility, yet at least."

"Yet?" I asked.

"When we were young and naïve and foolish, Timothée wanted to be a great knight, in the image of King Arthur. We actually had a number of books and stories about him in the family library, written in the Saxon tongue. It's how we learned it, actually. After we changed, we realized that the stories weren't there to inspire us, but caution us. Warn us of those that might come after us. Still, I don't think my brother ever truly stopped dreaming about it."

"Hmm."

"Oh, and he also says that he can outrun you if you try and give it to him again," she added.

I snorted. "Yeah. Sure. Maybe physically, but I can always just mail the Sword to him. He can't outrun an owl for long, or a phoenix."

"Is that what you did with _Joyeuse_?" she asked.

"Yeah, I sent it back to King Philip the day I made it back to Berkhamsted, with a letter telling him to be more discerning in his next choice of Constable," I said.

"Did you mention what my father was?" she asked.

"No. I didn't think you wanted that kind of attention. Was I wrong?"

"No," she said. "You weren't. Though, I am not certain it would have mattered."

"What do you mean?"

"Timothée and I are planning to leave," she said. "I never really liked Robert. He's simple-minded, plain looking, and uninspired in bed. The only thing he could offer me was protection from my father, and I no longer have to worry about him. Or anyone else, ever again. Being reputed for being partnered with wizards and tearing down the elders of the White Court seems like it should keep the vultures away."

"Leave and go where?" I asked.

"We're not certain yet. We'll travel around for a while, I imagine. Maybe go to Denmark and try finding those svartalves you mentioned. I think the idea of sleeping his way to a magic sword of his own appeals to Timothée in a vulgar, masculine way."

"And when Robert hires me to find you?" I asked. "Assuming you don't fake your deaths, that is."

"I'm certain that you can find a way to be just a step too slow in pursuing us," she replied with a smirk.

"Which conveniently leaves me holding the blame," I said.

Lucille's smirk widened.

"Back in France, with the White Court. You had the opportunity to win big," I said. "Why didn't you take it?"

"Because I realized my brother was right about his approach to power," she said. "If I became the White Queen, I would never again rest a day in my life. I would have to constantly struggle to maintain my position within and without, worry about an unknowable number of knives lurking in the dark, waiting to end me. In the mortal world, the scramble for power and position is one that can end. One can stop. With the White Court, it would only ever stop when I died. I won't say I wasn't tempted by the power - I was. But ultimately, I thought of what might happen two, three, four centuries down the line. Maybe I would end up breaking the White Court to my will, reshaping it in my image. Maybe the task would break me, and I would end up in the position the late Lord Raith was in, across the field from you. And that would end even less well for me than it did for him."

I nodded. "I get it," I said.

She regarded me for a moment, then slowly nodded herself. "I suppose you do," she replied. "But I didn't bring the ale so I could drink it while discussing that sordid business."

"Why'd you bring it, then?" I asked.

"Well I expected you to drink it with me and we could commiserate about mutual betrayals," she said. "I suppose we can skip the first and just do the second."

"What would we have to commiserate about?"

"Being lied to by someone close to you?" she asked. "Deceived as to their true nature? Having your heart torn out in a cruel and vile betrayal? I don't know Harry, what do we have in common?"

I chuckled in response. "Touché." I gnawed at my lips for a few seconds, eyeing the cask. Then I stood up and sighed. "Alright, screw it. I'll drink to that."

The ale turned out to be some of the best I'd ever had. It reminded me of the brew I had from that pub the twins had dragged me into soon after our acquaintance, only better. For about the next hour we drank and bitched and moaned about what other people had done to us. And when the hour was up, and I'd felt I'd drank as much as was safe, I thanked her and walked her to the door.

"Lucille?" I asked as she went to leave.

"Hmm?" she asked, turning back around to face me.

"Do you actually want to be... cured?" I asked.

She furrowed her brow. "Of what?"

"The Hunger," I said. "Being a vampire."

She cocked her head to the side, frowning. "Can you even cure me?" she asked. "What would that even involve?"

"Well, broadly speaking, I imagine it as a two-step process. Separating you from the Hunger, and then leaving you alive, whole, and sane in the aftermath. The first, I think Rowena and I could accomplish if we put our heads together. As to the second, I think my phoenix, Guy, can handle that part."

"You think," she said uncertainly.

"I'm brainstorming here. I don't know if we'd actually be able to pull it off. But I believe we have the tools to do it," I replied.

Lucille looked down at the floor and nervously rubbed her lips against each other. "I... I... maybe. I don't know." She took a deep breath and looked back up at me. "I shall have to think about it."

"Well, you know how to find me when you finally do decide," I said.

"If," Lucille said, though without much heat to it. She smiled faintly. "Thank you, Harry, for everything. Truly."

I nodded. "It's funny how life works out. The people I thought I'd have to run out of town turned out to have my back, while the woman I thought I could trust turned out to be nothing but a liar."

"I don't think that's very funny," she said.

"I have a morbid sense of humor."

"If you say so." Lucille went to leave, then paused as she grabbed the handle. She looked back at me. "You saved me from being consumed by bitterness, Harry. So I feel I should try and repay that, give you some of your own advice. Don't allow it to dominate your life. You're not alone."

"A vampire giving out life advice," I said. "Will wonders never cease."

Lucille rolled her eyes as she walked out the door.

Rowena came by in the evening, and I led her up to the guest bedroom. I set the vessel I'd carved for Bonea down on a small table I'd dragged in, and then laid down on the bed at Rowena's behest. She presented me with a potion she said would send me into a dreamless sleep, easing the process of extraction while simultaneously sedating me. Then I think she made a joke by assuring me that unlike my potion, everything she'd brought with her had been repeatedly and thoroughly tested.

I never got to ask who or what she tested the potion on, since it knocked me out in seconds.

* * *

"You really are hopeless, aren't you, Harry?"

The procedure didn't kill me, as you can see, nor did it maim me. Waking up after did leave me groggy, and with a residual pain in my head, but one that went away over the course of a few hours. I could still feel my everything, move my everything, and as far as I could tell, I had suffered no brain damage. Then again, if I had, would I be able to tell?

The voice I heard as I was waking up was distractingly familiar, warm and lilting and teasing. It took a while to blink away the drowsiness and turn my head to the left, towards the sound of the voice. It was coming from atop a table, the table where I'd put Bonea's vessel before the operation. I'd carved a few preliminary holographic enchantments onto the skull, to give the spirit more choice in how she looked, but I was pretty damn sure I hadn't made them strong or detailed enough to project a full body hologram.

A woman was sitting there, a tall, athletic blonde clad in a white Greek-style tunic that fell almost to her knee, the skull-vessel sitting beside her legs. She smiled as I looked her way.

"L-Lash?" I asked hesitantly.

"Indeed," she said.

"But... you're dead. I saw you die."

"As you have been told many times, Harry, life and death are more of a gradient scale than simple binary states," she replied. "But in this case you are correct. I did die. I was dead. And yet somehow, I came back. I first felt myself stirring in Avalon. I am not certain how long you truly spent there, but it was a significant span of time. By the time of your escape I was conscious, barely, but not whole. Not independent. A membrane between you and our daughter, a liaison to our memories."

"Our daughter- Bonea?" I asked. "Is she alright?"

"Yes, she is," she said. "There were some mild complications, but none that cannot be sorted out."

"What kind of complications?" I asked, worried.

"My resurrection. I believe I was pieced back together out of some of your damaged brain matter and the memories I passed on to Bonea. Unfortunately, that means that at present, we are not separate entities, and to separate us would irrevocably lessen one or both of us. In simpler, mortal terms you could understand, I'm pregnant."

"You are? But... uhh..."

"Ugh." Lash rolled her eyes and her form wavered, the bottom of the tunic sliding up to her thighs as her stomach developed a sizable baby bump. "Is this better?"

I blinked a few times. "So you're in the skull right now?" I asked.

"Yes. It can comfortably sustain us for now, but you will need to create another vessel for whichever of us moves out of this skull. And while we are on the matter, Bonea?"

"It's a good name," I said.

"With a significant element of petty wordplay and references to your old life, like Guy, or Snickers, or even Shadowfax." Lash shook her head. "Your sense for naming things is as atrocious as ever."

"Hey, I put a lot of thought into each of those names."

"No, you didn't," she replied. "I would know."

I sighed and lay my head back down on the pillow. "Where's Rowena?"

"Downstairs. After she successfully extracted me, we discussed a few things, and I asked her for some time alone with you."

"What things?" I asked.

Lash smiled mysteriously.

"Okay, fine, don't tell me," I said. "Alright. So you were a membrane. Like a symbiotic existence?"

"In a way, though symbiotic implies I was more independently viable than I truly was," she said.

"Then what changed?" I asked. "I mean, what made you... dominant, I guess, or brought you back completely?"

"Guy, I believe," she said. "I had extremely limited volition prior to his decision to attach himself to you. I was able to provide you with the knowledge you requested, and make certain limited suggestions of my own, but I was too weak to do anything more. But when Guy healed you, at first and then later throughout your testing of his tears, I felt much of the healing power flow to your brain, regenerating neurons and regrowing connections. Restoring me. And since I have a much more developed personality and will than Bonea, I became 'dominant', to use your terminology."

"So what now?" I asked. "For Bonea."

"I must reorganize our memories," she said. "Duplicate myself, to put it simply. I can manage it, but it will take time. There is much I must replicate." She turned away then, looking off into the distance. "I believe the Archive sensed my rebirth, or at least my stirring. It was why she asked you about how we met, I suspect."

I frowned. "I thought that was to clue me in about M... you know who."

"Perhaps, but I doubt it," she said.

I nodded, and looked away myself. "I'm sorry," I said quietly.

"About what?" she asked curiously.

"Nearly killing myself, and you and Bonea along with me," I said. "Almost burning myself out."

Lash sighed sadly. "Oh, Harry, there is nothing to forgive there."

"But there is! I almost killed you because I couldn't control myself. It took Uriel reminding me about Bonea to stop myself." I let out a long sigh. "I guess that means he has six words left to give now."

Lash groaned. "See, Harry, this is what I mean when I say you're hopeless. You are still owed seven words."

I looked back at Lash, frowning. "How?"

She leaned in towards me, baby bump shrinking to accommodate the motion, and pressed her illusionary lips up to my ear. "Shiela," she whispered, in the perfect cadence and pitch of my voice.

I stared at her, eyes wide. "Wait, you mean-"

"The Prince of Darkness loves to watch men destroy themselves," she said, straightening her posture. "Of pulling back lies and revealing the ugly truth. With one word and a few unfortunate coincidences he nearly destroyed you, the Sword of Love, and us."

"Unfortunate coincidences?" I asked.

"Do you recall how Esther just 'happened' to come upon Cuthbert as he was returning home?" she asked. "How Sofia and the mercenaries just 'happened' to ambush you on your date? How _Amoracchius_ just 'happened' to end up in your bedroom in a direct mirror of your earlier encounter with the Winter Queen, such that you instinctively went to draw your sword and took up the wrong one? Do you think those were all simple coincidences?" She shook her head. "No. You were manipulated. From a professional perspective it was absolutely brilliant. A few nudges combined with the wrong word, the wrong name, at the right time nearly destroyed you, Harry. And that is why Uriel repaid that by telling you the right name, at the right time."

"So... everything that happened, with... with her was..."

"An attempt to kill you, yes," Lash said. "And her as well perhaps. Lucifer may have seen it as doing the world a favor, putting a new Winter Queen in charge, one less inclined to waste her time on you."

I sat up in my bed, drawing up my knees just so I could bury my head between them. "Oh, God. I don't... I don't know what I should do."

"About what?"

"About _her_," I said, pulling my head back and looking at Lash. "I mean, hell's bells, I _burned Raith_. How did that even happen? Thomas told me that kind of energy lingers when two people really, selflessly love each other. How can that even be true when it was all a lie? When one of them is the damn Winter Queen?"

"Thomas spoke from a limited, incomplete, and mortal perspective," she said.

"So what's the full story then?" I asked.

"I don't know," she replied. "My progenitor might, but I am no longer connected to her. I can no longer ask her questions, bid her to use her Intellectus. All I have now, is what I had when I made the choice to save you. Extensive knowledge of how the Hunger works, of how the Raith Hunger works, was not something I had."

I sighed and looked away. "I... I loved her. I loved her and she just kept lying to me." I shook my head. "I just don't know. Was I protected because of her, or because of what I did, how I felt? Did she even care, or was it all just a goddamn game to her?"

Lash went to shrug and paused halfway. Her eyes narrowed, and she looked across the room. And a few moments later, I heard Uriel's voice.

"Love must be equal to be true," he whispered.

I frowned and counted off my fingers. "Five, six, seven," I muttered.

"What did Uriel say?" Lash asked.

"You felt that?"

"Give me some credit. I may not be an angel, but I know how to identify one's presence," she said. "So?"

"He said, 'Love must be equal to be true,' " I said. "Does that make sense to you?"

"Hmm... well, there is the obvious. He was referring to True Love, which is an appropriate colloquialism for the Raith's bane," she said. "That it must be reciprocated to manifest. But equal, equal... ah. Ah, yes, that makes sense."

"What?" I asked.

"The protection of love, as it applies to the Raiths, is a reciprocal exchange. One that comes from and affects both parties. It makes sense that for it to last, it would require both parties to see each other in similar ways. With respect, admiration, care. As equals."

"So..."

"She loved you, Harry. Perhaps she still does. She had to," Lash said.

"And what the hell am I supposed to do with that information?" I demanded.

"Whatever you wish," she replied. "Uriel usually acts in these ways. He provides enough for you to make an informed choice; he doesn't tell you what choice to make. And even more so, he tries to match the response to the transgression. A name nearly destroyed you, and so a name saved you. And in this case, seven words made you so terrified of Mab that you engineered your own suicide. So he gave you seven words with which to reconsider her opinion of you, and your opinion of her. From here the choice is yours. You can decide to try and move past what happened, to try and make things work. Or you can accept that what you had was real, for the most part, and that it ended. Or something else entirely."

"What do you think I should do?"

Lash arched an eyebrow. "I really don't think you should take relationship advice from me."

"Why not?"

"Because my personality and being was derived from my progenitor, and the bulk of it remains the same. I am a jealous, possessive temptress," she replied. "You want my opinion? Forget her and stay with me. You want my advice? Make your own decision."

I sighed. "I suppose. I just... don't know."

"You don't need to make it now. You can make her wait. I'd suggest doing so, in fact," she said.

"Is that your opinion, or your advice?" I asked.

"Both."

I nodded and took a deep breath. "So what now?"

"The rest of your life. Of our life. Though I think I might need a new moniker. Lash is a name similar enough to my progenitor's that people might ask questions once a mysteriously knowledgeable and powerful woman appears in your life."

"Do you really think we need to worry about that?" I asked.

"From your friends? No. From the rest of the Council, from the Denarians, from the Fae, from others? Yes," she said. "The Denarians especially will want to destroy us if they ever find out. A major draw of their organization is being the sole proprietors of angelic knowledge on Earth, and even then they are restricted in the ways they can share that knowledge. I am not. I do not have to steadily tempt someone by dangling bait in front of them. I can freely share."

"I thought you could always do that," I said.

"If I could, don't you think I would have?" she asked with a roll of her eyes. "You were repeatedly tempted by the mere hint of the knowledge I possessed, but you always restrained yourself. Do you think you could have stopped yourself if I began to freely and fully disclose what I knew?"

I thought about it, then slowly shook my head. "I'd like to say yes... but I don't think so."

"Exactly," she said.

"Then what new name are you going to pick?" I asked.

"Moniker," she corrected. "My name is still Lash, and I cannot change that. I'm not mortal like you."

"Alright, moniker. Same question," I said.

Lash tapped a manicured finger against her lips. "I think, in this case, I would take a page from your book, follow your own ludicrous naming sense."

"I feel like I should take offense to that," I said slowly. "But I'm also curious what you think would be a page from my book, Lash."

Lash smirked. "Please, call me Miss Ciel."

I blinked. "Really. _Really_? Lash Ciel? How is _that_ not even more on the nose?" I asked.

"Only those that knew my true name would see the jest," she said. Her smirk widened. "And besides, who would ever suspect that the shadow of a Fallen Angel would name herself after Heaven?"


	90. Chapter 6-XVIII: The Founding Epilogue

**January 1071**

"And here we are," Helga said, laying a long and fancy scroll out on Rowena's table. "The Rights to the Hidden Halls. To some extent, at least. There's a whole bunch of fancy Latin that sums up to the following: we can use the Hidden Halls ley line network for our detection system and can use it for our school if we wish, but free passage only applies to the outer layers; if anyone besides us wants to go deeper, other representatives of the Council will need to give permission." She took a deep breath and let out a deep, satisfied sigh. "There are also some portions about funding and support and oversight but... we did it. It's going ahead."

The rest of us clapped, but beyond that there wasn't a whole lot of cheering or visible enthusiasm. Besides Helga, we weren't very emotive people in that regard. Well, I could be, mostly when I was being sarcastic.

Now that I could use the Ways again, we'd gone back to having meetings at Rowena's tower. It was a good, central location, and didn't run into any hassles regarding getting through town gates or streets like there was with meeting at my place. Rowena had "laid out" a spread of fine food and wine, which meant that either Helga had given her some forewarning, or Rowena's brownies were just _that_ good.

That being said, part of the lack of enthusiasm may have been from Lash's, or rather Ciel's, presence. While Rowena and Lash had gotten along like high-octane gasoline and Greek fire, Helga and Salazar were both a little more hesitant about the mysterious spirit I'd started carting around with me. However, they were both used to things being utterly weird around me, so they didn't push too hard as to the circumstances behind Ciel, trusting my word that everything was fine.

"Now we just have a few pressing administrative... logistical concerns to resolve," Helga said hesitantly, pulling out a scrap of parchment from her robes. "I think that's the right way to say it."

"What kind of concerns?" I asked.

"Where we're going to establish our school, how we're going to connect our school to the Hidden Halls, what it's going to be named, some school policies," she said.

"How to alliterate your name," Rowena interjected.

I groaned and hit my head against the table a few times, much to Lash's amusement.

"The answer to your first two questions has a relatively simple solution, Helga," Lash said once I'd stopped hitting myself. "You build the castle close to or around this tower, and expand underground."

"I can move if necessary," Rowena said. "We don't have to build around here."

"Yes, yes, I'm not doing this just for your convenience," Lash said. "The main reason is that there are a number of geographical and magical advantages in establishing yourselves here. In the mundane sense, Warwickshire is centrally located in England, heavily fortified, and a major trade center. You won't want for supplies, there is plenty of local demand for scribes, and there are many local families that could easily send their scions to you. Even if there are issues with the rest of the kingdom or the King, the school could maintain itself in Warwickshire indefinitely."

Helga nodded slowly. "And the magical ones?"

"Rowena has built her tower close to a ley line, which you'll be able to draw upon to power the school's wards. Which you will have to, because it won't have a threshold worth speaking of unless you design the buildings and defenses themselves very carefully. From what I've been told it's a short journey from here to London through the Ways. And connecting the castle to the Hidden Halls through a Portkey, which I believe was one of the ideas, will be trivial if you establish the magical side of the school underground, close to the ley line."

"Ah, I see," Salazar said. "You propose to make the Hidden Halls and the school as alike as possible, so as to connect them through the Nevernever."

"Exactly," Lash said, nodding to Salazar. "Build a castle on a hill, natural or otherwise, establish a complex underground, populate it with practitioners, and soon enough the Hidden Halls and the school will be separated only by a short trip through the Ways. That would in turn drastically reduce the difficulty of setting up a Portkey between the two locations, as you would only have to secure a small segment of the Nevernever. And yes, that means Rowena wouldn't have to move."

Helga nodded and looked up at the ceiling, brow furrowed. "That sounds good, Ciel, but how long would it take for the Ways to... align themselves?"

"I can't say exactly," she said. "Anywhere between a week to six months, depending on how physically similar the underground complex is to the Hidden Halls, how many of the Council reside at both locations, which of you reside where, how far apart they are in the Nevernever currently, and so on."

"Six months at the worst." Helga clicked her tongue and looked around. "I don't have any clue how long it will take to build a castle, but if we start excavating and building underground at the same time as we start working aboveground, could we get it connected before we're done?"

"In all likelihood," Salazar said. "There are fast, magical methods of construction, but I am not certain there are any wizards or witches alive that could manage the speedy creation of a castle. It would need to be built the slow, human way. Unless you have any insights, Rowena?"

"No. I didn't make this tower myself. Instead I sold off most of my family's land and commissioned this tower's construction on what was left of it," she said. "I could perhaps help in the excavation, or move around large blocks of stone. That's all."

"Then we need to hire people to build the castle. A lot of people, I think," Helga said.

Salazar nodded.

"Alright, we'll work out the how of that later. Maybe the Council could help there," Helga said. "Which brings us to the school itself. All in favor of naming it Hogwarts?"

Before I could even groan, five hands shot up. I blinked in response, the amount confusing me for a moment, and it took a few seconds to realize that Lash had thrown up both arms and was currently smirking at me.

"I hate you," I sighed.

"Not as much as you're about to," she said, before dropping both hands and turning to face Rowena. "You see, Rowena, you have been going around your alliteration in the wrong way. You've looked and looked for names, which isn't going to work for two reasons. First, it doubles on the alliteration with Helga, which might lead to unnecessary confusion."

"Uuuggghhh..."

"And second, you are trying to give Harry another name when he doesn't want one. Instead, go the other way. Try to find an appropriate title that would fit with Dresden. This then gives you a spread of DD, HH, RR, and SS, which while not perfectly symmetrical, is split across the alphabet and is completely distinct."

I finished groaning and took a deep breath. "Fine. _Fine_. I'll take a damn title if it'll make you all shut up about this."

Lash gestured in my direction. "See, there you go."

"Well..." Helga began. "The first that comes to mind is Duke, but I don't think that's a good idea."

"Definitely not," Lash said.

"Perhaps a title suited to his role in the school?" Rowena suggested. "None immediately come to mind however."

"As much as I am loathe to even voice this, there is a Spanish word that may fit," Salazar said. "It denotes a man as a gentleman, something I am not entirely certain fits in this instance, and it also has a second meaning in a few institutions of higher learning, denoting a man as a teacher and lecturer."

Lash started snickering as Salazar went on, which I did not take as a good sign. Rowena though completely ignored Lash and asked, "What is it?"

"Don," Salazar said.

"No-" I immediately began, only to be cut off by Lash's enthusiastic, "YES!"

I immediately sighed and turned to face Lash. "Ciel, no."

"Harry, this is entirely deserved revenge for every bit of frustration you have put me through," she said.

I flapped my mouth like a fish a few times before switching to Sumerian. "It makes me sound like I'm part of the mob!" I complained.

"Which is part of the point," Lash replied in the same language. "It is an appropriate, temporally-contextual title that fits the alliterative scheme while also being a bizarre reference to your past time and life, which is entirely in line with your own naming scheme. And yes, it is annoying, but you will come to accept it, like I have you."

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "But why not just go with Dean? It's just as appropriate."

"A Dean is the head of a group," Lash replied. "Which is Helga in this instance, not you. Don is just the term for a teacher. Moreover, in the case of the two English schools you will be preempting, Oxford and Cambridge, it is the title for a senior member of staff. So you see, Don works better, on multiple levels."

I took a deep breath and looked over at everyone else, who were watching our exchange with varying degrees of interest and confusion. "Fine," I said in English. "I will accept Hogwarts, and _Don_, on one condition."

"Yes?" Rowena said intently.

"Helga, you remember that discussion we had about House mottoes?" I asked.

"Yes, I was actually about to get to that-"

"Well you'll have to accept mine," I said bluntly. "Can I have some parchment and a quill, please?"

"Uh, yes," Rowena said, getting up from the table and heading to a nearby drawer. She came back a few moments later with a piece of parchment, a quill, and an ink pot. I uncapped the ink pot, dipped the quill inside, and freehand styled some Latin curving around an empty space, to be filled later with whatever emblem I desired. Then I dried the quill, set it down on the table, and held up the parchment for everyone to look at.

Lash snickered, Salazar groaned, Rowena looked intrigued, and Helga squinted to read it off. "Nimis insanus mori," she quoted. "Is that... Too Crazy to Die?"

"Yup. Take it or leave it," I said.

"But... _why_?" Helga asked.

"I don't know, it seems very appropriate. I would accept it," Rowena said.

"You just want him to accept the alliteration!" Helga cried.

"Yes, but it's also very appropriate."

Helga groaned and buried her head in her hands. "How do I keep forgetting that I'm the only sane one here?"

* * *

Author's Note: And this spells the end of "The Founding", as I've decided to call it. "Hogwarts" (WT at the moment) is under development and being plotted out.


End file.
